The Hearts of Space
by CobraCommander
Summary: [FIN] Suspense in the desolate. Scientists study a mentally unstable zealot and uncover the full functionality of a Protoss brain to their amazement... and their destruction. Thanks to all readers.
1. Temperance

The Hearts of Space

By Cobra Commander

_Author's Note: All characters are herein fictional and are not meant to depict any real known persons._

Chapter One: Temperance

It was a delicate shack; cozy, even. But it wasn't the dampness nor the darkness of the surroundings that pestered the men so, it was the chatter of something new that had been brought among the ranks. And why it was so exciting vamped another question as to the mental state of the beings imprisoned there. Imprisoned, stationed shall sound better.

The air was always cool; never did it warm unless the breath of the men was heavier than normal, or if they were huddled together like they kept their precious pets. The friction of the wind against the side of the three-chambered detachment sometimes generated heat. Though it was only outside, and the wind did create friction with the ground.

The temperature always bounced around. It was odd, for never had the temperature of Braxis moderated from its general condition. However, the past few weeks had been odd meteorologically, as well as astronomically. If it was not the level of coldness that moved, the stars certainly seemed to dance to take a spotlight. Countless numbers of astronomers, cosmic ray specialists, and studiers of the heavens had gathered at this shack. The variance was not anticipated, but that did not mean this was unheard of.

In a small study, several scientists found that the astrological patterns did not seem to make sense in about every five or six years. For some reason, the stars were not in the correct place. There were, of course, no abnormal alignments that had occurred, but the fact that the stars that were destined to appear in the sky at night did not absolutely baffled those who inhabited Braxis.

A conclusion was made that in every five or six human years, (or Earth years) Braxis deviated from its normal circulation path. The deviation from this revolution sparked the next series of abnormal revolutions, so on, and so forth.

Though the theory was not completely solid: the stars that should have appeared at night with the divergence incorporated still did not produce accurate results. In fact, stars that had not yet been discovered, at least with the current astronomical maps of the surrounding planets and systems, were shining at night. That is granted for when there is no stormy cloud cover. That, however, was rare. Braxis kept a constant amount of clouds, be it storm or calm.

Though the main course of study at the facility was not to gaze upon celestial beings, it was of very high interest. Nine of the thirty-seven men held a degree in some sort of astronomical aspect. The rest, biochemists, physicists, and so on, studied something they found more interesting than a ball of energy.

The Braxis Scientific Outpost #68 was supposed to be used to study the psychic abilities of certain beings. Now, the men had a subject that was very intriguing.

Phaira-kur was the name of the head course of study. He was a Protoss, more importantly, a mentally unstable one. He was locked in a cell and withheld in the third chamber of the outpost. There, in the ice-cold dampness of the night, twenty-one of the men huddled.

For most of them, it was time to study his actions, brain activity, physical activity and such. Others just observed, most likely abandoning their current task. Two, however, guarded the beast.

The cell was most grand. With four layers of laser and plasma walls, there was no escaping the booth. Within the small area, Phaira-kur had a surrounding that resembled Aiur. Yes, it was small, but that didn't seem to matter to a weakling Protoss. Not only weak in physical capabilities, but weak in mind.

While the men worked however, none could stop their mouths from fluttering about the new creature that had arrived at the outpost.

Though Commander Blake would neither confirm nor deny the presence of a new being, he did smile whenever someone asked. He had been at base the entire time the creature was being received. It was the small task force that had successfully apprehended it. It was when they returned did the number of humans retain to thirty-seven. However, none of them had been seen since they had come back.

It was well known that they had something. Perhaps it was not a _monster_, but it was something. Blake would not send the group out in the harshness of a Braxis winter to chase a blip of Garrett's radar. Obviously, they had witnessed something that could excite them beyond wild dreams.

Life had been desolate across the plains of Braxis. Supply ships on the border came and went. Certain Sons of Korhal officials stopped by to inspect the supply depots as well as the army detachments. New life at the scientific facilities was rare. Even if the team had recovered something as simple as a frog, the scientists would most likely stand on their heads.

While the night crept by, the number of men observing Phaira-kur diminished. Some went to their bunks, others went to leisure activities. Each of them did not forget what was happening tonight. Tonight the entire station would meet to gaze upon what the team had brought back. Soon, only the guards and three scientists remained. Though they had, for the most part, stopped their experiments, they still pondered what was lingering in the mind of their victim.

Phaira-kur was the only insane Protoss on Braxis. At least that was known of. He was also one of the only Protoss on Braxis. The only real distinguished and mapped base which the Protoss held was sixty miles to the north of Outpost #68, which was near the magnetic pole. Even still, it was estimated that less than one hundred aliens infected the land there.

When the lights shut off in that section of the third compound and the security systems went to work, the lights brightened as did the noise in the first.

There was Blake, hands on his hips and a grin across his face, staring at the men as they entered and sat down. Chairs had been arranged for them, they even had their names listed. Even Greck, the cook, got his own seat with name included. However, he was not pleased with whatever they had found. It was causing him to leave the kitchen.

As the idle conversations continued, another man stepped forth. He was the leader of the small crew that had been on the weeks worth operation. Though he seemed quieter and less intimidating than Blake, he held a certain trait that made him so mysterious. It was his eyes that pulsed through your skin when the angle was correct.

Renaud was almost six feet tall, however, he was rather thin. His gear did give him some sort of enhancement, but it did not fill the shoes of Blake. And when he stepped forward, the crowd started to die down.

Blake finally reduced his grin to a smile and held his hands in the air, signaling a hush, and hush did ensue. He grinned again before releasing his arms of the pressure. He looked at Renaud, whose expression was still blank. Blank, perhaps even a tad impatient. Blake then turned back to the men with a solemn expression. Odd to the men.

He counted using his finger. Sure, all the seats had been taken, but perhaps they had forgotten someone. He then switched to the crew which was standing beside Renaud. He counted them, himself, and therefore came upon thirty-seven.

"And that's that," he first spoke. "As you all know, I have not been releasing much information about the discovery that was made by our second-in-command Renaud here. He and his men investigated the strange appearance that both Garrett and I had observed on the radar screen. Although it is not likely or customary to investigate reports of anything that is not posing a threat to the base or its inhabitants, we had a certain feeling about this one.

"Over a week ago, maybe two to be more precise, Garrett notified me of a strange appearance on the radar screen. I looked at it myself, consulted both he and Renaud, and then decided that it should be pursued. We monitored it for less than a week. I think it was about four days-"

"Five," input Renaud, his arms folded and the same light scowl on his complexion. Blake looked at him, smirked, and continued with his presentation.

"Yes, five indeed." A small chuckle rippled over the crowd as Renaud scoffed. Blake went on. "I then assigned Renaud to the task of locating and potentially retrieving the body of mass out in the plains. He assembled his crew and took off the next morning. Though he has given me some detail, I cannot in full describe the events of his expedition." He turned to the Lieutenant. "Renaud, if you will?"

Renaud cracked a brief smile and rubbed his stubble chin. He moved to Blake's position, and the Commander sat down to watch the presentation. Renaud quickly glanced at the faces in the room. While the scientists were about to explode in anticipation, the guards looked as bored as hell.

"Good evening. Today we returned with something that might help us explain a little about what might be happening with Phaira-kur's jump in mental activity. We have recognized beforehand that his activity level had increased slightly upon the arrival of the being on the radar screen. Though we first came to the idea that this was most definitely causing the enhanced movement within his brain, I have learned that the activity had sustained, and now has reached its normal level.

"What we found was sixteen miles to the west of our current location. We unfortunately had to pass through a small mountain range, which forced us to abandon our simple vehicles. As we inched nearer, the readouts of a presence other than our own started to increase. Not only that, but a strange swerving of the temperature started to occur.

"The average temperature this time of season in Braxis is usually about ninety below zero Celsius. This extreme coldness then rose to seventy below. Snider checked the record books, and no temperature during this allotted time period had ever increased to this level.

"Not only was that temperature never achieved, the rate at which it inclined was stupendous. Within three hours it had climbed the thermometers. I'm not a meteorologist, but I knew for one that this was odd. At first, Snider and I concluded that it was the general zone that was in this temperature, that whatever had entered this area caused a great lift in the atmosphere.

"However, this theory proved false. Once we were in eight hundred feet of the being, the temperature started to decrease. Our main guess is that the effects of whatever had entered the zone had worn off."

Renaud took a pause to see if the men were soaking this in. They were indeed. He didn't look at the scientists, but at the guards rather. Their attention had been hooked, so he knew his words were taking effect.

"We didn't know what we were going to find. And when we came within a hundred feet, the figure started to take shape. We came closer, and eventually formed a circle around it." He paused again. Renaud looked at Van Camp and motioned with his chin towards the great block and the drape that shielded it.

Van Camp moved to the drape and clutched it with both his hands. Renaud turned back towards the audience and released a cool smile.

"We found this."

The cue was set, and Van Camp tugged the great curtain to reveal another Protoss. A small uproar of murmuring soared across the room as men squirmed and even stood to look at the prize.

"His name is Durhkhan. When we found him, he was almost dead. Snider and Van Camp stripped him of his arm bands and propped him up. I, myself, wanted to bring him to the medical center, but Blake demanded we bring him here.

"He started to recover on our journey back. Along the way, I asked him several questions about the current shift in the atmosphere. He did not answer any of them. Although I want nothing to do with him or the experiments you plan to run on him, I would like you to ask Durhkhan what happened in the atmosphere that day."

Renaud then nodded a tad and turned his attention to Blake, who was beaming with excitement. He, Blake, then stood and bumped Renaud aside. Renaud scowled again and left the room.

Blake explained how the testing procedures would go. Both Durhkhan and Phaira-kur would be placed in the same cell for the time being to see if there would be any mental stirring. Durhkhan would then be interrogated. After a few months of tests and experiments, Durhkhan would be set free.

Though it seemed so odd to be so ecstatic about a simple wounded Protoss warrior, it opened new doors in the current projects that had produced nothing. It was expected of this facility to get mind readouts on the functionality of Protoss minds, both stable and unstable.

The entire lab had been unsuccessful in mapping anything new about the brains of the Protoss, even with Phaira-kur. His actions and simple thoughts were so unpredictable. There were no patterns, no repeating feelings, nothing. At least with a standard mind they could find patterns in actions and thoughts. With Phaira-kur, it was laughable.

Durhkhan was in a small glass containment cube with mental restrictors on his head. Normally, a Protoss like Durhkhan would be able to shatter the glass with a simple click in his brain. The restrictors prevented him from doing that. He stared out at the scientists who gazed at him for awhile. Not long after, the men realized that he was, in fact, just a regular Protoss. While they were excited about the new tests, they were also sane. They were tired, and all but a few retired to their bunks.

Van Camp and Newell propped Durhkhan on a small wheeled device and escorted him to his new residence. Blake then talked with two of the head scientists at the base, Dr. Ames and Dr. Wald. Greck, however, returned to the kitchen.

When Durhkhan reached his new home and was placed there, Van Camp started to talk to him.

"You know, I'm awfully sorry about all this. Most of us don't give a damn about the experiments here," he said. Durhkhan was now securely in the cell with Phaira-kur, and Van Camp pointed to a control panel. Snider moved towards it and then disengaged the mental restrictors.

He removed them, stared at the strange contraption, and set it down.

_It is your nature. You are but humans._ Van Camp frowned and then exited. Snider looked at Newell, and both left to play pool.

Throughout the night, neither of the Protoss communicated with the other, nor did they attempt to do so. Durhkhan sat on a small rock-type piece of furniture and did not move. He did not watch as Phaira-kur stumbled about aimlessly before resting in one place to sleep.

The plasma and laser walls seemed to close on Durhkhan, who could only train his thoughts to destroying the barrier and releasing himself from the hell hole he had fallen in to. As of now, he couldn't remember much of anything. How he had gotten so close to the magnetic pole, how the humans had taken capture of him. It was no matter now. How it happened could not help him escape. It was his own reasoning that would free him. And maybe even his feeble companion could assist to weather the storm.


	2. Midnight Interval

Chapter Two: Midnight Interval

The recreational room had always been the favorite among the men to relax. And now, it was empty. That was, at least, when Renaud entered. He burst through the doors, grabbed a magazine and plopped himself down onto a cushioned chair. He took one look at the magazine, realized it was printed three months ago and tossed it across the room. He sunk into the recliner, putting his fingers across his lips and glaring to the right.

There was nothing there, merely Renaud letting off steam. He hadn't agreed to bring back the specimen, but anyone who disobeys an order gets shipped off to the border and gets a desk job. After Renaud's office occupation at the trading post for the Confederacy years ago, he didn't want to go back to that.

Renaud was so interesting. He knew that what the scientists were doing was cruel, but he didn't seem to care. While people like Van Camp had some remorse for what was happening, Renaud didn't react. Sure, he would cancel the research if it was in his ability, but it was not; he left it at that. The smartest thing to do was get on Blake's good side and then poke fun at him. Renaud had done it. It worked just fine.

It had been a few minutes, and the viewing was over. Renaud's eyes shifted to the entrance to the rec room as the men who decided to stay up started to filter in. His eyes rolled over each man who entered as he identified them. Every now and then there was some guy he couldn't name right away. So it took a few moments, what difference did it make?

Finally, one of his rivals bust into the room laughing and jeering with some guard. It was Grady, the pilot and overall annoying man at the outpost. He pranced towards Renaud, squatted, and looked him straight in the eye.

"I know we've never really talked, Renaud," said Grady sincerely, "but now I really think we should… nice job on finding a useless creature out in the snow!" Grady jumped up and ran to the center of the rec room as the crowd focused on him. "The temperature rose. It was so silly!" he said, mocking Renaud. "Then I stuck my finger in my ass and-"

"Can it, Grady," warned Renaud. He revealed the holster on his side which contained a handgun. Grady smiled, then sat down and sorted through magazines.

Renaud was never one for big talks. That little speech he had given had more words in it than he had said since he arrived at Outpost #68.

The place became very social, and Renaud quickly became uncomfortable. Realizing that people would eventually come up and ask questions about the expedition over and over again, he got up and exited. The corridors were empty. Good. It was a place where he could think. However, being trampled in the corridors was nothing new, and it was inevitable. Somewhere else would have to shelter Renaud.

The bunks would not be good. They were already crowded with men, many of whom were probably still talking about the finding. The only place he could really be by himself was the kitchen. Sure, Greck was there, but Greck didn't care about the Protoss at all. The fact that two zealots were trapped together inside a tiny chamber was more boring to Greck than trying to bend a fork with your brain. Of course, if he wanted to do that, he could just have the new zealot to do it.

Renaud strolled down the darkened path. The light bulb had gone out two days ago, and Jarvis hadn't replaced it yet. Of all the skills technicians had, of all the skill that Jarvis contained in operating an SCV, he couldn't screw in a light bulb.

The doors to the kitchen were closed, but not locked. They simply swung open, back and forth, and Renaud _did_ push his way through. On that other side was stacks of meat. Frozen meat, to be exact. Obviously, Greck was reorganizing the freezer. A very not fun job, but someone had to do it. Renaud went to one of the sinks and turned on the water. Dirt-infested water poured out, but a good smack on the faucet fixed the problem.

_I'll bet Jarvis couldn't do that_, thought Renaud. He grabbed a glass from the pile of dishes, rinsed it a few times, and then filled it to the top. He turned around as he took a plug of the water to watch Greck struggle with the heavy bulk. Renaud leaned against the sink and shut off the faucet without looking. Greck stumbled with the meat before dropping it on a counter and wiping his brow. He looked at Renaud and frowned.

"You _could _help me with this, you know." Greck then took what looked like beef back into the freezer. Renaud grabbed a bulk, too, and followed him.

Connant, the cosmic-ray specialist, entered the kitchen. He was one of those that Renaud feared; one who asked questions. Connant was one of the younger scientists, though still one of the brighter ones. He represented the other cosmic-ray scientists, of which were three.

Though not his field, the energy that Renaud described fascinated him so. He stood at the entrance to the freezer, anticipating Renaud's exit.

Renaud, after setting the meat down in Greck's designated area, stood up and rubbed his back. He let out a quick chuckle and turned around. The smile from his laughter disappeared and turned into dread. He liked Connant, but he didn't want to talk. Renaud turned back to Greck.

"Forget it, Greck. I'll just stay in here and freeze," announced Renaud.

"I don't think so. I don't want a corpse in here with all this food. If you want to freeze, just step outside for a minute, you idiot." Greck pushed past Renaud angrily to grab another supply of mutton.

Renaud sighed then approached Connant, who was beaming with excitement. Renaud, upon reaching the entrance to the freezer, finally let out a real smile and patted Connant on the back.

"Okay, go ahead," Renaud released.

Connant grinned. He took Renaud's arm and slapped him into a metal chair. Connant jumped up on one of the cutting boards and rubbed his hands together; those hands were cold.

"First," Connant started, "what do _you _think caused it all? I mean, that temperature rise couldn't have been caused by that zealot simply _being _there in that area."

"Well-" started Renaud.

"But I think," interrupted Connant. Renaud nearly burst out laughing. "I think that the Protoss retain a level of psionic ability far beyond what we ever imagined. Nothing we know is capable of improving such conditions."

Renaud thought about it for a moment, and then gave an answer.

"I honestly think our instruments were just fucked up." Connant slumped in disappointment as Ames entered the kitchen with a great laugh.

"Ho-ho! Of course they were. Connant, the simple-minded Protoss zealots are not capable of such a storm of chaos. Their brains, though superior to ours, cannot control something like the atmospheric conditions," explained Ames as he took a beer from the refrigerator. Renaud pointed at Ames and looked at Connant as if to say, "Yeah, what he said."

Connant slowly descended the cutting board and started to exit. While he stood in the canopy, he turned around and looked at Ames.

"But if the instruments _weren't _incorrect, then how do you explain it?" asked Connant.

Ames took the cap off the beer, slugged a round and let out a sound of satisfaction before setting it down on the counter and looking at Connant.

"Friction. From the wind," he said as the beer once more approached his lips. "The wind on Braxis is known to falter from time to time, and the friction with the ground can create a certain amount of heat. Of course, I don't know how hard the wind was blowing; you'd have to ask Renaud." Renaud nodded and held his hands far apart, indicating much wind. "That friction created with the ground generates heat; the heat will then cause the instruments' measurements to be off, if not slightly but hugely." Another swig of the beer. "You can ask the entire crew. A jump of twenty degrees, but I doubt it felt much warmer." Ames then tipped his beer towards Connant and left through the swinging doors.

Connant nodded, and then grunted. Renaud stood up and led the young astrologist out of the kitchen, where Greck had almost finished. They moved into the room where Durhkhan had once been, where all the scientists once sat.

Blake was now gone, most likely had just left, and so was Wald. They moved to the window and stared out into the snowy abyss. Renaud didn't know what had happened to him while he was on that trip. He, Snider, Van Camp, Thurston, and de Roos were the ones who experienced about it, the ones who would dream…

For once, the clouds of Braxis parted, and the stars appeared in the dark sky. As Renaud watched, he swore that at least once, in the corner of his eye, he saw a star dance.

----

As Garrett continued to keep his eyes glued to the radar screen, MacFerran screwed with the radio equipment. The installment's last radio operator had been deported to Outpost #39 last month, so now the communication systems landed in MacFerran's hands. It was all right, he knew what to do. But now, in the dead of night, there was never anything to report.

Garrett then sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He then propped his feet up onto the screen and stretched. It was getting late, he wasn't getting younger. This job had been so unbelievably boring. That discovery that _he _had made, not Blake, had been the most entertaining piece of data he had come across.

MacFerran wore his headphones and switched from frequency to frequency, looking for any other radio operators who had nothing to do. He liked talking to them; mainly because those radio operators had events occurring at their base, unlike Outpost #68.

He came across a certain frequency that was fuzzy, but it held a low humming noise. This was odd, because it wasn't the usual high-pitched humming. This note was low, as if someone were broadcasting just this sound. When MacFerran turned up the volume, he realized that the humming would stay constant. He glowered, then took off his headphones and cast them aside.

Garrett looked over and saw that his comrade was frustrated. MacFerran just sat there, not moving, not talking at all.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Garrett. MacFerran took one look at him and then hit a switch that transferred the noise in the headphones to the speakers in the room. The humming took over, and Garrett was taken back in confusion. "What is it?" MacFerran threw his arms in the air.

"It sounds like someone is broadcasting it. I can't determine where it's coming from, though." MacFerran went back to the controls, flipping several switches and turning numerous knobs. Garrett put his feet down and supplanted them to the ground. With his shoes secured to the floor, he stood up and walked over to the radio equipment.

"Try talking to them," Garrett suggested. MacFerran looked at him like he was crazy.

However, the radio operator took the microphone, switched the concentration back to his headphones and spoke to the mystery broadcaster.

"This is PCA Band to caller, come in caller, over… repeat: this is PCA Band to caller, come in caller, over," MacFerran said. He paused, waited for a response, and then sighed. He turned to Garrett. "Nothing." Garrett leaned against the radio equipment as MacFerran went back to the microphone.

MacFerran opened his mouth, ready to speak. Suddenly, a voice cut him off. It was low, so deep it was impossible to understand. He drew back with his face perplexed, and Garrett saw and tilted his head. MacFerran said nothing, and Garrett did not want to interrupt. Within moments, the voice was gone, and the usually humming began once again.

MacFerran pleaded back into the microphone, but there was no response. Again and again he tried, but there was nothing. After his final attempt, the humming stopped, and static took control. He looked over his instruments to find the frequency number, but there was nothing. As strange as it seemed, the equipment read as though no station had existed.

"What? What happened?" asked Garrett. MacFerran shook his head. No, no something, _someone _had to be there. There _had _to be. But alas, no station could be found.

"I-I don't know," he started. "The person… or thing, whatever it was… they were there…" Garrett knew he had heard a message that could not have been pleasing. But, before he could ask; "But I couldn't understand him. Something about… I don't know. Damn, if only I had recorded it."

Blake came in to check up on things. He noticed the faces of the duo, confused as could be. Something had spooked them, but there was no time for that now. He ordered them back to work, and turned to leave. MacFerran then uttered that Jarvis needed to come help him fix the radio tackle. There was not a thing wrong with it, but MacFerran figured that the volume box may have been damaged, and that _that _is what caused the inability to understand.

Blake nodded, and then left. Garrett went back to his chair to stare at the radar screen. He did, but no matter what blip traveled across the monitor, he couldn't pay attention. The shadows crept on by the dim light while the voices over frequency went all along the towers.


	3. Hallucinations

Chapter Three: Hallucinations

There he was, lying in his bed. Being second-in-command gave him a slightly better mattress than the rest, but never once did he brag about it. Now, in the dead of the night, he slept. Though near the south magnetic pole, that area of Braxis operated on forty-eight hour Earth-days. Twenty-four hours of sunlight, and twenty-four hours of darkness. It was approaching the time of "night" when it would be the fourteenth hour of black.

It was quiet throughout the camp. The radio and radar had been abandoned for now, and Durhkhan and Phaira-kur had no visitors but each other. But, as once stated, they never attempted to communicate.

Ever since Phaira-kur arrived he had never wanted to communicate. Whether it be he wished to be alone or he was too stupid did not interest the scientists. It was why he acted that way that compelled them. The station had produced nothing new. There were maps, of course, of the Protoss brain, but there wasn't one that mapped the mind of a mentally deficient zealot. That was the plan.

Hopefully, with this new guest, all of that would change. Hopefully, maps and readouts, data and knowledge would flow and come in gusts just as the wind outside did. It would start soon. The men would not be asleep forever. They would awaken in the dark and start to work. Durhkhan knew that. Phaira-kur did not.

But for now, they were safe, and so were the some-odd demons that slept in the barracks. Not all wished for them to suffer, but some had madness that lurked in their mind. It was bound up now, but with a push, a tiny push…

Renaud _was _sound asleep. His dreams were not dictated by the thought of Durhkhan, nor Phaira-kur. It was channeled to the discovery, more likely the journey to that zone. The four men that were with him most likely dreamt similar dreams. If they were, in fact, not fantasies.

In the cloud of unconsciousness, Renaud saw through his eyes the same scene; outside the camp. He and the four were just about to leave, and Blake and Garrett were seeing them off. As Renaud sat on the back of a vulture, he turned around to see Blake and Garrett go back inside as the wind picked up and the snow flew.

Thurston was driving the bike, and next to them was Snider, riding his own vulture. Van Camp and de Roos were in a siege tank, yet the tank had no extended barrel.

There were no emblems on any of the vehicles. If any real army had stationed them there, it had been the Sons of Korhal. Yet, they did not take good enough care of the stations on Braxis to rightfully be the owner. It was James Raynor that had really gotten this place started; for all the stations on Braxis this was true.

They crossed the snow-barren plains. The temperatures were at a colossal low, as always. Yet they went on. The journey would take several days, about a week, in fact. But Renaud's energy seemed drained already. His comrades looked bright and cheery enough, but there, sitting on the vulture, Renaud was lacking of physical power.

Every now and then, de Roos would contact Renaud via walkie-talkie to update him on the location of the mass, their current standpoint, and the correct navigational points needed to reach the core of activity. de Roos and Van Camp had a radar screen within the tank to watch for updates.

As the day grew on, the sky grew darker. Or maybe it was just the snow was falling harder? de Roos had not indicated any fuzziness in the radar, so maybe Renaud saw darker skies.

Now it was late. The men were growing tired, and they were starting to get very cold. The temperature was about ninety below Celsius. The two bikes swerved and slowed to a stop as the massive tank skid on the solid ice. The set up their thermal tents and went to bed.

The next morning the temperature was the same, and everything seemed in order. They once again set out, and soon were greeted by a small range of mountains. Although most would call it crazy, it was safer to travel on foot. As long as your equipment did not fail you, surviving the elements of Braxis was not that difficult.

The tank and bikes were abandoned, but not forgotten. Renaud had them parked under a small cliff that overshadowed them. This way, they would not be eaten by the snow; only an avalanche could swallow them.

Renaud led the march with de Roos behind him. He had the navigational charts and small radar computer. Van Camp had a duplicate set as well. The mountain passage was not that large, but it had its dangers.

But once again it grew late as they came to the other side of the mountains. Renaud stopped and set up camp once they had come through, and all went to sleep the second day.

That night, the thermometers danced like wild men in the jungle. Like spirits, they crept in and out of their various stages. They were the specters that taunted the area that night, rising and descending as they did. As the instruments played their games, the barometers then awoke from the deep sleep and swung their hands in fast and incomplete circles. These instruments, however, were armed with buzzers that would sound when obscure weather conditions arose. They sounded, and soon Snider was stirred from his dormancy to inspect them.

He rubbed his eyes several times before realizing the madness that the tools lay before him. He chuckled at first, and then realized that a certain doom was in the air. The idea of every implement failing simply flew out of his mind. He knew that it was a ridiculous thought, and awoke Renaud to get another opinion.

Snider shook Renaud violently, and in return, Renaud gave a violent answer. A swing at the face and a few curses exited his mouth. The punch, however, was lazy and missed Snider by nearly a foot. Snider wasted no time in getting Renaud to look at the instruments in a true way, and not half-asleep.

Once Renaud finally accepted that he _had _to deal with Snider's fantasy, he stretched and looked at the evidence himself. He did it again. Then he blinked hard and did it again. It was undeniable that the thermometers, barometers, all the gauges and guides were spewing something foul, something that was scientifically impossible, especially in an atmosphere such as the one on Braxis.

If all the data was, in fact, correct, then an extremely violent and aggressive storm should have ripped through them and killed them. However, Renaud only heard the wind go in and out. It rose and fell, but did not intimidate. The storm should have been so lethal that even their home encampment would have been decimated, even if the center was directly on top of Renaud's tent.

Renaud and Snider looked at each other in a way that could not be described. The confusion, bafflement, even elemental _fear_ soaked through those glances. Renaud then put on his mask and poked his head outside for a moment. It felt cold, as cold as Braxis should be at night. And at that moment, the thermometer _did _read ninety degrees below Celsius. But after a moment, the temperature increased. It was so fast that Renaud was afraid the mercury inside the gauge would explode.

"This can't be happening, you know," said Snider as he flipped through a notebook of papers. "This is absolutely ridiculous." Renaud looked at Snider as he continued to search the notebook. He then switched to the thermometer which was slowly but steadily increasing. "It can't be happening."

"I think the instruments have gone berserk," gave Renaud. It was a strange theory. Offbeat, even; still it held the most logical ground. "Look. I say, look at this, Snider! Ha! Eighty-two degrees Celsius! In- oh, what time _is _it? Twenty-two minutes. No! Twenty-three. That can't happen, Snider; you're right."

Snider finally stopped flipping and then trailed various straight-lined paths with his finger. Renaud quit his gaze upon the thermometer and waited for Snider to finish his research. Snider scoffed and nearly laughed at his discovery.

"A change this fast has never been recorded on any part of Braxis." He looked again. "In fact, the fastest a temperature has ever risen from… oh, what was it? Ninety-two? Yes, ninety-two degrees, to eighty-two degrees… Three days. Three days, Renaud! That's ludicrous for a change of ten units that has a record of three days to be shattered by a mere twenty-three minutes." He closed the binder and set it aside. "This can't be happening."

Renaud smiled cautiously and turned back to the row of thermometers. But to his horror, the temperature had risen further. Though not much, it hadn't stopped its unreal progress. He had not removed his mask, so he poked his head outside again. It was cold, sure; but it didn't feel any warmer in the slightest bit.

Snider massaged his temple and lied down. Renaud crept with his head inwards and sat for a bit. The information that they had recorded was very odd, but perhaps it could be studied. Renaud figured that it was all wrong, that something had caused the instruments to give false data. However, the idea of all these tools failing him slammed another thought into his mind; what if the rest of the equipment was faulty? Was it the cold that was causing it? What if they got off track?

He knew that worrying about such ordeals would not help at all. He would dismiss his woes until morning, and hopefully everything would be back to normal.

Renaud woke up after a brief sleep, though. His first and only thought: check the thermometers. Seventy degrees Celsius. Renaud looked at his watch. It had been three hours since the devices displayed ninety-two. Snider had awoken, too, and both realized that the impossible _was _being spelled out before them.

"It has to be whatever we're chasing," said Renaud. "That's what it has to be."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that the mass at the epicenter caused a rise?"

Renaud nodded. "If a meteor had come in it could have really shaken things up. The atmosphere of Braxis is pretty thick, you know. Re-entry on most shuttles does a lot of wear and tear."

"And this meteor is still holding the effect after a few days?" asked Snider. Renaud had no choice but to nod again. "That meteor must have been shot from hell, if the devil really does play with fire. I don't know if that can happen, Renaud."

Fatigue took control of them, and the argument had to wait until morning.

Van Camp, Thurston, and de Roos were bright and cheery when they first greeted the duo. They, however, were groggy. Renaud explained what had happened that night, and showed the devices to them. It had now leveled at seventy degrees. The men took it even though it was something insane to think about.

The path was followed, and Renaud kept his fears of a false leading to himself. The equipment had to have some value, so he did not curse it. de Roos and Van Camp then happily reported they were within a thousand feet of the object. Renaud marched as he looked back at Snider, who kept _his _stare locked to a thermometer. Time seemed to fly after that.

"Within nine hundred feet, sir," reported de Roos. There was no response from the commander. And only a little time after that;

"Within eight hundred feet, sir."

Renaud cleared his throat when he heard a mutter from Snider. He instantly stopped, and Van Camp bumped into him from behind. Renaud pushed him and de Roos aside going straight to the little devil that had taunted him so.

"Watch it, Renaud!" scolded Van Camp. This, however, had no effect on him. The two looked at the thermometer and gasped. Was it now working? Was it a fault in the tool before? Either way, it was both a relief and horror to them. The fever had declined, but then again it had _changed_. That change is something that they had come to fear. Van Camp frowned and took a look for himself.

"What? What is it?" Van Camp said as he stared at a piece of technology that told him seventy-six degrees. "So it's a tad warmer than yesterday, what's the big deal?" Van Camp had been stationed on Aiur prior to this, and Aiur had a more Earth-type environment. A change in fever did not strike him as a threat.

Thurston and de Roos realized the oddity in the reading. They turned and continued to march. Renaud shook himself of the fiction that raced in his head. This was no time to crack.

The figure in the distance took shape. It was something, a man perhaps? Curled up and laying on the ground. Renaud squinted through the goggles and noticed that it was not a man, but a zealot. Lost, maybe even abandoned. Thurston, de Roos, and Van Camp rushed to it and examined it. Snider had put his toy away and focused on the finding.

Renaud saw that the zealot was alive. Thurston attempted to pull the zealot to his feet, but the creature was too heavy. Thurston stepped back as the monster arose by himself, weakly, and eyed the men around him.

"Are you all right?" asked Renaud. The zealot did not respond, only stumbled. Renaud and de Roos helped him walk. "What's your name?"

"Durhkhan," it replied.

They helped him along, all the way back. Durhkhan was slowly regaining his strength. Renaud saw this and had his psionic blades removed, as they could pose a possible threat. Durhkhan did not resist in any way.

Durhkhan's progress was slow, and caused the entire expedition to dawdle. Several days were spent going through the mountain pass, and each night Thurston had to give the zealot a sedative to keep him asleep for several hours so that he would not awake and attempt to harm anyone.

Once they reached the vehicles, de Roos retrieved a small but helpful device from the tank and brought it to Durhkhan. It was a portable prison cell that was formed of a type of glass. Also, they were fortunate enough to bring mental restrictors. Van Camp had meant to bring those with him, but had forgotten.

Renaud took a bike by himself and had Durhkhan with him. Snider and Thurston were on the other and de Roos and Van Camp in the tank.

All the while, Renaud asked various questions about the atmosphere and such, and Durhkhan did not reply to any of them. Renaud finally stopped and focused on the trail ahead of him.

After a few hours, Renaud heard a strange noise from the glass cell that was riding behind him. He glanced back to see what was happening… Durhkhan was bypassing the mental restrictors.

But no! That hadn't happened! That _hadn't _happened on the trip they had taken! Renaud fought violently in his unconsciousness, but to no avail. He physically jolted as he attempted to wake up from the nightmare that was about to ensue. Durhkhan ripped off the mental restrictors, broke his glass chamber and grabbed Renaud.

He threw him off the bike and into the ice. Snider and Thurston stopped as they drew rifles to fire. Durhkhan leaped forward and pounced upon the two and took his psionic blades from the back of the vulture. He placed them on his wrists, felt the power within himself and slashed at them. Renaud flipped over to his back on the ice and watched as Durhkhan approached him.

The blade lifted into the air, their eyes met, and then a blue scimitar thrust its way though Renaud's chest.

He thrust himself into the air when he awoke. Sweating, panting… It had all been a dream, just a recollection of what had happened, at least for the most part. But it had been so real. He felt the coldness of the air, Van Camp bumping into him, falling off the bike, the blade piercing his skin…

Renaud then took notice of his surroundings when four more jumped upward with the same motion as he.


	4. Concurrent Matters

Chapter Four: Concurrent Matters

"_A level of despair is reached, where people are willing to die to punish their tormentors."_

-William Kammeraad-Campbell

The star's light had just hit the plains when Blake snapped awake in his chair in the office. An equivalent time on Earth would be six in the morning; however it was twelve o' clock on Braxis. It took him a second to realize where he was, and another to find what time it was. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers across his stubble chin and stood up while he straightened his uniform. He was not a decorated officer, and not many would call him an officer at all.

Blake stepped to the mirror and made sure the wrinkles he had secured in his coat overnight were not too bad, and then opened the holster for his sidearm. The gun was in the top drawer of his desk. It was black with a dark grey handle, and inscribed on the bottom was "Colonel Hardy Blake." He smiled before attaching it to his side.

His office was always very neat, something that was his own. Blake was a strange man, but most of the scientists liked him. Scientists, not guards. The men of science had not been on battlefields or even in any sort of basic training, and therefore knew no kind or real leadership which Blake most surely lacked. The guards and even Renaud recognized the absence of true military character. The size of Blake's figure made no difference of his capabilities.

Blake then left his office and decided to go for a stroll throughout the corridors to see who was up and about. At this moment, not many. Greck had prepared a breakfast, namely coffee, for the men and was cursing under his breath the entire time. Blake came in and snatched a cup while Greck was preoccupied with something else. He headed back towards the radio room where he had been the night before to see if Jarvis had come in and done anything yet. Jarvis was most likely awake; he was able to operate on little sleep.

MacFerran and Garrett were absent. So was Jarvis. Odd. Blake walked in and inspected the room, but found it devoid of life. The machinery was off, which was very dangerous. MacFerran should have known better than to turn off the radio. Unless, of course, it had broken down completely. A few moments later, MacFerran himself walked into the room. He gave a casually "hello" and proceeded to turn the radio equipment on.

It began to hum and buzz as Blake sipped his coffee, not asking why MacFerran had turned it off. Blake was not too interested in it, but maybe he should have been. There was no conversation between them whatsoever. The only thing was the occasional glance or smile. Then Garrett entered. He sat down at his own equipment and stared lazily at it. Blake sighed, took a sip, and left.

MacFerran put on his headphones and looked at Garrett.

"I really don't like him," said MacFerran. Garrett chuckled and nodded, for not only did he agree, but it was so blatantly true.

The radio man turned back to his job - which he would be doing for quite a long time - and started to turn various dials, seeing if he could find the station that gave him such a mysterious broadcast. He found none. However, there were a few fuzzy stations that were new to him. After a few moments one became a little clearer. They were most likely vessels of some sort that were entering the area. As of now, they were probably in high orbit, perhaps even a bit further away. The message was recorded. A beam of giving way to underlings below. Searching, even, for a sign of intelligent life left upon the snowy surface.

It was sound… becoming clearer as MacFerran listened: "This is the FCM, Third Division of the Former Colonial Militia… Repeat… This is the FCM, Third Division of the Former Colonial Militia… We will be entering the atmosphere of Braxis shortly… All Terran posts report in… Repeat… We will be entering the atmosphere of Braxis shortly… All Terran posts report in… This is the FCM," and with that, MacFerran hit a recording button, and the message was taken down upon a computer.

He then switched a few knobs, took hold of the microphone and spoke into it.

"PCA Band to FCM, come in FCM, over." He paused and waited for a response. Nothing. Once again he took to the board and made some adjustments. "PCA Band to FCM, Ninth Machine-Gun Battalion, come in FCM, over." Once again there was a pause, but then some cackling.

MacFerran turned and stared at the speakers eagerly. Some more crackling and such emerged before another voice was present, though it was different from the recording.

"This is FCM to PCA Band, we read you loud and clear," stated the voice. MacFerran smiled. Garrett was able to hear it, too, through the speakers.

"FCM, please state allegiance and purpose."

"PCA Band, this is FCM, Third Division. Our allegiance _is _of the FCM, Former Colonial Militia, previously under rule of the Sons of Korhal. Our purpose is to evade enemy freighters and spy vessels and seek shelter for the time being."

MacFerran thought for a moment before responding: "Please state the leader of this group, FCM." There was no answer except for the usual cackling. "FCM, please state your leader." The cackling ceased as there was no answer. "FCM, please report in, over… FCM, this is PCA Band, do you read me, over?"

The voice had been lost as MacFerran attempted desperately to restore it.

----

A few hours later, the lab was filled to the brim with scientists rushing about, running intelligence tests, aptitude tests, even waste tests of the new creature and his interaction with his comrade. As chart after chart of information flowed in, the strangeness grew. Durhkhan seemed in no way inclined to talk to his handicapped fellow. Phaira-kur was sitting in one place, moving his head about every so often.

Dr. Ames watched as he took notes with a simple piece of paper and pencil. Wald, however, was using every bit of technology available to find some variation in the results they had gotten before.

The only notable differences were a slight increase in mental activity of Phaira-kur and the extremely steady state of Durhkhan's mind. Either Phaira-kur was excited by all the people around him and his new companion or he was just abnormal today. Durhkhan was focusing on something, though. He was channeling his thoughts into one item, but that item was unknown.

Even after several hours had passed, the room still buzzed with an unbelievable strength, and MacFerran still desperately tried to contact the voice that represented the Former Colonial Militia.

The tests, as of all, showed the following:

The zealot Durhkhan, recognized by the computers as Test Subject Zeta-1318 (Z-18) and Phaira-kur as Test Subject Zeta-2376 (Z-76), was given a title of intelligence as normal. He exceeded no bound of the Protoss brain, nor did he dip below what was set as a standard. Though his IQ did not hit the line proportionally to the middle, he did not deviate far from it.

Trials showed that the lack of mental activity as well as physical activity was caused by his own being. Z-18 was contracting his psionic powers into one colossal beam of energy. Though the computers did not give that Z-18 was hoping that his channeled psionic energy was being charged to destroy his barrier, the scientists reasoned so.

Z-18, though showing a standard IQ, was compiling an astounding amount of energy. The energy was not concentrated within his skull, but rather pulsed throughout his body. Scientists had not seen a Protoss assemble such a large amount of energy. In fact, Wald reasoned that if enough of this psionic force was created, Z-18 would implode. Neither the scientists nor the computers were sure of where all this energy was planning to go, but if it were headed for the laser boundary, Wald and Blake were not certain it could withstand the force.

This psionic passion that throbbed in the limbs and chest of this beast was powerful enough to destroy a siege tank. Granted, the laser compound was stronger than a siege tank, but the power could be stronger than that expected. At first, the scientists pondered why the Protoss then could not defeat their enemies as easily as it seemed. They then figured that once thoroughly disturbed, the energy would start to die down. Also, it took a great deal of time to create such a powerful amass of vigor.

Z-76, however, was not as lively. He had close to zero a reading of psionic energy. His motions still showed no sign of a pattern, and the excitement he had shown before was gone. Unless Z-18 interacted with Z-76, Z-76 would show no leap in bustle.

The hours then slowed to a halt when Dr. Wald stood from his chair with his own notes of observations of both animal and machine. The room, upon acknowledging him, toned to silence.

"We have witnessed within these last hours the subjects of Z-18 and Z-76. Both have been interesting to watch, but our tests are still inconclusive. This is not to say we have not worked hard or that our work is in vain, but as long as there is no interface between the two zealots, we cannot accomplish anything new.

"Z-18 has been in brooding since his arrival. Whether or not he plans to escape I cannot say, but I have a _feeling _that the very thought bounces in the chambers of his mind. You can look at him – and go ahead! – You can look at him and see the thoughts portrayed on his complexion. Sure, it is unmoving, but the intent is there, if you believe in such a thing." He looked at Ames, who only smiled back.

"As an established mindset of this installation, I suggest that we place the mental restrictors on the test subject of Z-18," Wald continued. "We have seen him channeling his thoughts as one, and that this could prove to be dangerous. I know, I _know _it might impale him of certain aspects, but for our safety, I recommend it. Ames, what say you?"

Ames looked at Wald, put his clipboard on top of a computer, and stood up. The room stared at him, glancing between him and the alien.

"I'd have to agree that mental restrictors would be in our best interest. Z-18 has shown a disturbing amount of dormancy." Ames rubbed his eyes and looked into the cell. "But, we need to continue our study of Z-18's advancements of psionic levels. We've never seen anything like this before. We can't stop yet.

"But the line between studying and danger is thin. I cannot say what Z-18 will do."

Mumbling erupted as Ames sat. Wald gave a brief look of disbelief. He then realized that it _was _in order and that the studying needed to continue. Perhaps a break in his meditation could save the men from certain destruction. The scientists swayed different ways, and an agreement could not be made. Blake tried to settle the argument. He suggested that Durhkhan be placed in an alternate cell, and then the scientists rebelled that it would disturb Durhkhan's thinking process.

All the while, the astronomers Connant and Silas sat in the corner, watching the men bicker about.

"Blake, moving Z-18 would screw all of today's tests! I want to figure out what's going on before we screw it up!" shouted Ames.

"Calm down, Ames, I'm not saying that we _have _to do it, I just want everyone safe!" retorted Blake. Wald then interjected, as did others. Silas was too frustrated to listen to it anymore, and he left without another word.

"That creature can't be that dangerous!"

"The psionic energy is unpredictable!"

"Please!" shouted Connant. He caused the room to go silent. "It's obvious that Durhkhan poses a threat to us, he's smarter than us! Even if we destroyed his equipment he could find a way to cause us harm. It's not a matter of whether he escapes; it's a question of the actions that ensue. Look at him! Does he not appear evil? And that he does – and he _does _so that he should – give us chills." Connant walked towards the cell. "Your pet, the two of them, it'll be what we fear most. And Durhkhan, planning; looking past that laser-wall. That thing grew up on evil, adolesced slowly roasting alive the local equivalent of kittens, and amused itself through maturity on new and ingenious torture."

MacFerran entered tired and frustrated. He handed a paper to Blake. It contained the information on the FCM, the incoming entities. Blake patted MacFerran on the back and both exited to the radio room.

Wald and Ames, who had been best friends for years, were now at a huge disagreement, and neither wanted to see the other side. Wald looked at the cell. Connant was now staring in, into the eyes of the beast that withheld a tempest of all sorts. Ames saw it, too, that the eyes of the monster were not of this world.

"Can we agree," started Wald, "that two guards be on duty tonight? One inside this room and another out? It'll be safe for tonight. You can record whatever sort of information you want over the course of the dark, and tomorrow we can give him the mental restrictors."

Ames saw that there was no disagreeing to this. An entire night's worth of information was the best that he could get, maybe a few hours in the morning. It would be all right; surely Durhkhan would collect it again. He nodded, and no other scientist thought it well to oppose. Wald smiled, and so did Ames; another crisis averted. Wald walked over towards the door, where the schedule for guarding was posted.

"Who's on for tonight? Straatman – oh, Stratham. You and Newell tonight. Decide who is where, we'll bring you some dinner." Several men left and went to the dining hall where Greck had prepared yet another mediocre meal. "You'll do fine."

Stratham rolled his eyes and went to his locker to grab his rifle. Newell had to do the same. Durhkhan still did not change his focus. It was amazing how he was able to be undisturbed by his surroundings. Surreal, yet believable.

----

Blake listened to the transmission several times. MacFerran only looked at the commander and could clearly read that Blake had no idea what to do. The commander then frowned and looked to Garrett, who had practically passed out at his console.

"The Former Colonial Militia, huh?" asked Blake. "Sounds like a crock of shit. Why don't you contact the inner bases and alert them to these guys' presence?" MacFerran sighed and looked down. "What? I don't know what to tell you, MacFerran. If these guys mean business, then we could be in trouble. Thank God we're undeclared. Now, go radio those Sons of Korhal outposts!"

Blake then left, and MacFerran did nothing but ignore what his commander told him. These men, whoever they were, were on their way, and they might be friendly… they _sounded _friendly, but who could know? He tossed the microphone aside and spun around to the window, where he saw a star dance.

----

"Okay, Newell. I'll take the inside. You can stand out in the hall and answer all the questions that the scientists have. 'Are they all right?' 'Have you checked on them?' 'Are you _sure_ they're all right?'" Stratham chuckled. "It'll get to you, Newell, trust me. I've been on duty for Phaira more times than you can imagine. Every time it's the same old deal."

"I know. I've been there, too, you know," Newell smiled as he leaned against the wall. Stratham nodded and then went inside the lab, closing the door behind him.

It was very dark; there were no windows in the lab. Strange, wasn't it? In a room where there would most likely be some disaster, where there would most likely be some sort of havoc that involved several men, there were no windows for escape. Stratham figured it would just be too cold out, even if you were on fire.

He flipped on the lights and noticed that Phaira-kur was drifting off to sleep as Durhkhan continued to stare straight ahead. Stratham was startled by it at first, but then realized it was ridiculous. He walked to the side of the laser-wall and looked inside. Nothing interesting happening.

Stratham took a few steps back and leaned himself against the wall, lowering his rifle. He sighed and turned his head towards the cell again and then back to his front.

"You amaze me, pal," started Stratham. "I mean, I've never seen anything concentrate so hard. For Christ's sake, it's like you're in some staring contest with the desk over there! I'd hate to break it to you, but it never blinks. And you don't seem to, either." Stratham slid down to the floor and sat.

"I mean, why don't you just do something? They're never going to let you out if you just sit there forever. Either do something or talk… or send mental messages, rather. Whatever it is you do… I don't know." Durhkhan kept his glare straight. Stratham turned to him.

"What happened there?" asked Stratham. "I heard Renaud telling everyone that the weather was really freaky out there towards the pole. Do you know what happened? Of course you do, but you won't say, right?" Stratham slid straight in front of him. "I've never heard of any weather like the type Renaud described. I know that it isn't possible. I _know _it." He slid closer. His voice was but a whisper.

"You did it, didn't you? Huh? You and your energy, whatever it's called. You did it. You centered your energy into one area and let it grow, just like you're doing now." He paused. "And you're thinking that if you can channel enough energy you can escape that prison… I don't know if you can, but I'm waiting for you to try… I'm waiting."

Stratham slid back towards the wall and chuckled. "But then again I still wonder how _that entire_ phenomenon occurred."

_I did it._

"Huh?"

And with that, an enormous blast ripped through the laser wall and burst through the cabinet and barrier across from Stratham. Stratham ducked and waited for the enormous firestorm to end, even when he noticed the blast was still going with no noise. Either he was deaf, or it was silent.

Durhkhan's feet hit the heated tile floor and looked to Stratham. Tonight was his night, the night of his escape.


	5. The Revenge

Chapter Five: The Revenge

The men sat in the dining hall, munching on the grub Greck had placed before them. Renaud sat by the window and lit a cigarette. He took a quick puff while he waved the match in the air to put the flaming head out. He dropped the match on the floor as a small stream of smoke rose from the ash. Greck was wiping his hands with a towel and scowled when he saw this.

"I clean up this God damned kitchen, Renaud. You better pick that up!" Renaud looked at Greck and then out the window again. Greck mumbled and cursed some more before going back into the galley.

Grady wiped his face and grinned in malevolence. He elbowed Ambrose, who sat next to him, and pointed at Renaud.

"You see, Ambrose? This is why I tell you to stop smoking! If you keep it up, you'll start looking like Renaud here!" Grady then scooped up a pile of mashed potatoes and stuffed it in his mouth. Ambrose chuckled and took a swig of beer as the men around him also gave a light snigger.

Grady then found a piece of aluminum foil, and he rolled it into a ball and chucked it at Renaud. It hit him square in the back of the head. Renaud only sighed and closed his eyes, making sure he kept his hand away from his sidearm.

Renaud left the room, unable to deal with Grady. On his way out, he bumped into Blake. Blake smiled and patted Renaud on the back. Renaud reluctantly smiled back and flicked his cigarette. He looked back into the dining hall only to find Grady making ridiculous faces at him. Blake looked in, too, and saw the same thing. He gave a confused laugh and turned his attention back towards Renaud.

"What is it with you two? Huh? I mean, every second one of you is torturing the other in some obscure way. What is it, Renaud?"

Renaud took a puff of the cigarette one last time and flipped it to the ground where he crushed it with his boot. He looked at Blake and leaned against the wall of the entrance.

"I met him at the academy in Braxis years ago. We were in the same class, I was at the top, and he was at the bottom. Grady's a stupid son of a bitch, and whenever he saw my test scores, gun accuracy scores, all that shit, he started to mock me. I punched him a couple of times. He's got a good hook himself, but that's beside the point. He's just upset about how _stupid _he is." Renaud took yet another breath of the toxic air.

A strange sound came ricocheting down the hallway. It was Stratham, followed by Newell. Renaud turned to look as they came to a screeching halt.

"He's out! He's gone, man!" said Stratham breathlessly. Blake and Renaud exchanged confused glances. "Don't you hear me! Blake, listen! He's gone!" screeched Stratham as another series of pants followed. "Ask Newell! He saw it!"

"And was nearly killed by it!" he shot back.

Blake stepped forward and placed his hands on their shoulders trying to calm them down. Stratham retracted and leaned against the wall as Newell shook his head. Renaud dropped his cigarette and tapped it with his foot.

"You're both going to tell me that Phuru-blah or whatever his name is escaped his cell?" asked Blake, calmly.

Stratham shook his head furiously as did Newell. Stratham pointed down the hallway.

"It was the other one! That _other _beast escaped! He's probably looking for those blade things that they always have!" Blake nodded and turned to look into the dining hall. He focused back to his panicking comrades and smiled.

Renaud peered down the hallway but saw nothing. He motioned to Stratham and Newell to follow. They proceeded down the darkened corridor as Blake watched for a moment. Blake went into the dining hall and tapped Ames on the shoulder. There was a brief conversation before Ames got up and followed Blake out into the hallway. Renaud had disappeared into a room for a moment; he had gone into the armory.

Renaud emerged from the center with a machine gun in hand. He acknowledged Blake and the three went into the darkness. Ames shook his head.

"They really shouldn't kill him," he said. Blake rolled his eyes at the scientist and went back into the dining hall. He calmly announced that everyone needed to head for the second compound bunker right away. Greck, who was in the kitchen carrying a large amount of beef, cursed loudly after hearing this. There was still more food coming, and it would all be burnt if he left it.

Blake snapped at the cook. Greck reluctantly agreed and turned around with his beef, heading back into the freezer. But the moment he turned around, he bumped into a rather large figure, maybe two feet taller than he. He slowly looked up at the monster, dropping the meat and cautiously backing up.

In the dining hall, the men had all gotten up, asking a thousand questions at once. Blake made up an excuse that a large storm was heading their way. Greck ran into the dining hall, screaming and yelling. The scientists all looked at each other in confusion until the zealot stepped into their room, eyeing all of them.

In a blind panic, the men sprinted furiously, trying to get away from him as fast as possible. Blake whipped out his pistol and took several shots at the monster. Durhkhan looked at him after taking a shot in the chest. The clip was emptied, and Blake tried to reload as fast as he could. Durhkhan stepped forward, winding up his hand and thrusting it into the human's chest, heaving him against the wall.

Blake flew back, out the doorway of the dining hall and into the corridor. Durhkhan stomped into the corridor, ready to finish the pathetic being. But he heard running. He heard running from the left, down the hallway. Three figures started to appear, and they looked as if they were carrying automatic weapons.

Durhkhan ducked back into the dining hall. Renaud, Stratham, and Newell appeared, aiding Blake and then going after the Protoss.

Renaud entered first, looking this way and that, but found nothing. Stratham and Newell ran into the kitchen, checked the freezer, and then the food galley. He was gone. The strange being they knew as Durhkhan had disappeared.

"All right, Stratham, what the hell happened?" asked Renaud, finally.

"I was just sitting there, in that room. I was talking to him about the stuff _you_ said to us, Renaud. You know, all those weather abnormalities? Then, out of nowhere, he says 'I did it.'"

There was a pause. Stratham rested against the freezer door as the others stood impatiently.

"And then what?"

"Then he blasted through that fucking wall, that's what!" he screeched. Renaud rubbed his mouth and looked around. The men were probably scattered all over complex, and it would take a long while to get them all back together.

"First thing first," started Renaud. "We have to get everyone in one place and lock it up until we catch this freak. See if we can't get them in the security bunker." Blake nodded in agreement. The four rushed into the corridor frantically searching for their companions who were lost in the dark.

----

The talking was outrageous; even the shouting. As Blake did a second head count in the security bunker, he reached thirty-four. It had been nearly two hours since Durhkhan had escaped, but apparently he had not hurt anyone. Blake stood up in front of the crowd and tried to get them to hush. It was difficult; the men all had questions, even though they were centered on one root, the inquiries came out in different ways.

Blake looked around the room, lifted his hands as he had before, but found it gave no response. The men were too panicked. Renaud, being frustrated, pushed Blake aside and yelled in a loud voice for the men to hush. Though it was not an immediate affect, the men who did respect Renaud were quiet within seconds. The others, then, followed. Renaud licked his lips.

"Now, I know you're all confused, but you're all going to have to keep quiet and accept what I say for now. It may sound strange, it may seem odd, but that doesn't matter now. What _does _matter is that we keep everyone safe and out of Durhkhan's way." Small waves of chatter spouted, so Renaud continued. "It's been reported that Durhkhan forced his way through that shield. We don't know how. And honestly, it doesn't make a difference. The point is the wall is out and both are on the loose. I'm guessing that it's safe to assume that Phaira-kur is of no danger to us? Is that correct, Dr. Ames?"

Ames shrugged as Wald nodded up and down. Renaud turned from the crowd a moment and looked at Blake.

"And MacFerran and Garrett are where?"

"Both are in the radio room trying to contact help. They're the only ones we really need to worry about now. Well, besides our two fugitives." However, Blake's comment didn't satisfy Renaud. The lieutenant looked at the crowd and started to count heads again. He then counted Blake and himself, then MacFerran and Garrett… but _that _only reached thirty-six.

Renaud said to Blake, "Were there not thirty-_seven_ men stationed here?" Blake nodded, but he was confused. Perhaps Renaud had counted wrong? "No," said Renaud, "There are only thirty-six! Then who are we missing?" Renaud's eyes scanned over the crowd as the men began to whisper. No one had heard the duo's small conversation. Maybe something was wrong. It then became clear to Renaud. "Jarvis!"

----

The lonely little janitor scrubbed the floor of a hallway in the third building. He had heard a few gunshots, but that was all. He figured it was either a drunken brawl or an accident. If it _was _a brawl, it was certainly between Grady and Renaud. The floors were wet as the chubby man listened to the familiar sound of a squeaky mop. He stopped, soaked it in water, squeezed it, and hit the floor again. He reached the end of the hallway and stopped, looking out a small window.

The winds were not as loud as before. Not deafening, anyways. Jarvis put one hand on his hip as the other held the mop straight like a soldier. He sighed at the darkened picture of a plain of snow. Too bad it was always so cold outside. He'd love to get out and enjoy the view first-hand. But, his purpose was to mop the floors, so he began to turn away and drop the stick in the bucket again.

He pulled it alongside him to another hallway. The wheels on the yellow contraption squeaked and skidded across the dirt-ridden floor. Jarvis was amazed at the men in this complex; there was no dirt to be found anywhere on Braxis, yet so much of it managed to accumulate on his floor.

Jarvis pulled the mop out again and let it splash on the ground. He started at the end of yet another hallway that contained a window very similar to the one he stood at before. But this window was better; through this one could he see the stars. Dazzling, beautiful; it made Jarvis wonder to how he became a janitor. He watched as the stars beamed, but then one looked as if it had moved. Jarvis blinked heavily, and then looked again. The dancing had stopped. No matter, he figured. He had heard that staring at something bright against a dark background can play tricks with your eyes.

But then again, he saw another star move, but this time more violently. It ripped across the sky, and then back again. Jarvis stared at this with the most curiosity… and then came to his senses. Was it not the several freighters in the sky? Yes, some of the outposts on the skirts of Braxis were being re-stocked tonight. Those freighters were something else with their lights. There were two, maybe even three of them.

Jarvis cleaned the rest of the floor, going down the antechamber and then stopping at an intersection. He took a deep breath and got ready to go retrieve his yellow-wheeled pale when he heard something. It was squeaking. Someone was walking on his fresh floor.

"Hey, get off the damned floor, I just mopped it!" Jarvis looked in a few office rooms, but found them to be empty. He frowned angrily, and then went back to where he had left his pale. It was gone! Someone had taken it! "All right, buddy, what the hell are you doing, huh? Don't make me report you to Blake!"

A door creaked shut. Jarvis chuckled softly and shook his head. He marched down the hallway and stood outside the door that had just closed.

"Look, pal, give me the pale and I won't have to kill you." There was no response. Jarvis listened as the wind outside began to pick up. He turned around and saw the window at the end of the hallway. The stars were circling around in the sky! Could it be the freighters? He knew that there could be several, but would there be that many?

Jarvis slowly started walking towards the window when the door he once stood at rushed open. He spun around and saw his yellow pale floating in the office with a strange blue light massaging around it. He slowly crept towards the office, his feet latched to the floor. He shuffled like an old man, and he gripped the mop with both hands.

He stood at the doorway, looking in. The pale lifted higher, higher… Jarvis's jaw trembled in fright. The pale then thrust towards Jarvis and smashed him in the face. He fell back, hitting the floor. When he started to get up, he saw the blue energy engulfing more objects within the office. The chairs, the desk, the file cabinet, and they were all rising. He crawled away, then turning, and on all fours began shuffling down the hall.

The objects crashed through the doorway, punching holes through the wall as they smacked into Jarvis. He covered his head as he tried to protect himself.

Then it was quiet. The objects had stopped attacking him. Jarvis got up and looked as a figure appeared in the doorway of the office. It was a towering abomination; thin yet sinful. Still looking at it, Jarvis started running in the other direction when he suddenly felt an excruciating amount of pain swell in his stomach. His head snapped to his front, and a large being wearing yellow armor was in front of him. A sharp and precise blue energy blade protruded his gut, and Jarvis looked up as the Protoss stared at him with no expression.

Blood spewed from Jarvis's mouth as Durhkhan turned around and heaved him through the window. It shattered as Jarvis fell to the icy cold ground. As the stars danced above, the custodian was swallowed in snow as the wind whipped around him.


	6. Snares of the Monsters

Chapter Six: Snares of the Monsters

A small group was huddled in a circle in the bunker. Renaud was giving orders as Blake watched silently. It was as if Blake was too afraid, or didn't know what to do in such a situation. But it was what is was, and Renaud was the head of the group now. The game plan was simple; the mission was not to find Jarvis. The chances were that he was dead. The objective of the whole operation was to locate and eliminate the two zealots. Or, at least, Durhkhan. In the entire time Durhkhan had been at the outpost, he acted like all he wanted was revenge.

Slowly but surely, Durhkhan was achieving that revenge.

It would be three groups of three searching the compounds. Renaud claimed Van Camp and Snider, and appointed Newell and Grady the leaders of the other two groups. As much as Renaud hated it, Grady _had _to be in charge of one party. He was the only one that seemed capable. Newell took Stratham and Thurston with him, and Grady took Ambrose and de Roos. And, of course, de Roos was not pleased with this.

Blake had to stay and keep the scientists calm. The scientists still thought Blake was running the show even though he seemed more as a court jester now. Renaud sent Straatman up to watch over Garrett and MacFerran in the radio and radar room. The teams were set, and the chase now began.

The safety bunker had several weapons in it, and the teams loaded up on shotguns and automatic rifles. Renaud grabbed a few grenades.

They set out into the darkened corridors in search of the evil escapees. Perhaps they would find Jarvis, or in Renaud's mind, what was left of him. But when they left, Blake was not watching the door, and two scientists ran off behind them. Ames and Wald were not following the soldiers, but rather going to the labs to run off reports of the energy recorded in the computers. Surely there must be some record of the amount of power that surged through that room when Durhkhan blasted his way through. Ames and Wald were determined to find it.

Renaud, Snider, and Van Camp marched into the first complex, scouting through the kitchen. It was still in disarray from when everyone fled in a blind panic. Greck would surely have a heart attack if he saw his precious galley the way it was now.

Van Camp went into the walk-in freezer. Everything was still there, the way it should be. The odd thing about it was that the door to the freezer had been open. He didn't remember Greck leaving the door open, but unless one of the Protoss had some odd reason to go in there…

The rest of the dining hall was empty. No signs of Jarvis or the escaped monsters. Renaud shook his head and signaled for Snider and Van Camp to follow. They left and went on to explore the rest of their part of the station.

Meanwhile, Newell and his crew searched the second part of the complex. They came to a storage room where Jarvis kept all his janitorial supplies. Newell opened the door and entered, finding nothing. Stratham, however, went into the room across the hall where Durhkhan's armor had been kept. He snooped around, looking for the yellow chain mail. What he found was that Durhkhan had discovered this room. The armor was missing, _and so were his blades._

Stratham rushed out back into the hallway and slammed into Thurston. Both fell to the ground, and Newell came out of the supply room to see what the ruckus was about.

"What the hell are you two doing?" asked Newell. Stratham got up quickly as Thurston looked up at him in disbelief.

"That monster was in there!"

"He's in there? Durhkhan and the other one are in there? Let's get them!" Newell charged forward but Stratham stopped him, shaking his head.

"No, _no! _He _was _in there! The blades! You know those stupid blue things that shoot out of their arms? They're gone. He must have found them somehow." But Newell wasn't so concerned about what the monster had; he was more concerned about where he was.

"So he may still be in this part of the complex." Newell helped Thurston up. "Thurston, you go down to the security bunker and tell Blake we think we know where they are." A large _clang! _was heard from above. "Now, Thurston. Go!"

Thurston sprinted off and down to the security bunker, and again another sound was heard. Not as loud as the first, but the same sound indeed. Stratham looked up and then at Newell, who was already heading for the stairs.

----

Durhkhan looked out the broken window and watched as the body was consumed by the snow. He heard faint footsteps behind him. Durhkhan turned to find Phaira-kur approaching him.

_You've done very well, my friend,_ Durhkhan sent telepathically. Phaira-kur only went to look out the window. _You're much stronger than I anticipated. Much, much stronger._ He looked at the desk and file cabinet that his comrade had thrown. _I didn't know you were capable of this. I thought a zealot who was… well, mentally retarded could not perform such things._

Phaira-kur looked at Durhkhan, and then back to the stars.

_I notice you like to play with them,_ Durhkhan said. _How do you do that? Do you realize the power that it takes? The movement of the furniture impressed me enough, but you are able to shift these stars without a second thought. You should be a high priest, friend! To be able to control the orbit of stars is amazing. It is something I cannot and never will understand. It took all my psionic strength to warm the area I was stranded in. And even then I almost froze. I bet if you wanted to, you could have the surface of this planet boiling._

There was no response from the other being. He stood silently. Durhkhan shook his head and trotted down the hallway, peering into each room.

_The only way I can describe your unique power is that you are _not_ handicapped. Far from it, in fact. I believe you are mentally gifted. So much that it is unmatched. Tassadar had nothing compared to you. Then it is true; the line between genius and insanity is but a thin one._

Then footsteps were heard. Durhkhan spun around and heard small chatter coming down from the hallway. He looked at Phaira-kur, who was already heading towards on office. Durhkhan guessed that Phaira-kur was going to hide, but since his movements were so slow it was hard to tell. Durhkhan heard the humans coming, even louder now, and he went into an office and hid. He propped himself against the wall and wielded the blue laser blades. They hummed peacefully, but the sound of the wind whistling hid it from the human ears.

Grady was the first one to come to the end of the hallway, looking all the way to the window, noticing it was broken. He held up his hand, signaling for de Roos and Ambrose to stop. They did so, and gave a confused look. Grady looked to his immediate right, noticing the large holes in the wall from where the furniture had flown through to hit Jarvis. He shook his head. It was unfathomable.

Then Grady did a double-take. He looked to his left again, his head snapping with incredible speed. In the middle of the hallway was Jarvis's pale! And his mop! Jarvis was here… Or he _had _been here. The broken window only served as another possibility to the fate of the janitor.

"Hey, Grady," whispered de Roos, "are they here? Huh? Are they?"

Grady, without moving his focus from the holes in the wall, nodded slightly. de Roos gulped and gripped his rifle tightly. Clumsily, Grady retrieved his walkie-talkie from his belt with his shaky hands and lifted it to his mouth.

"Renaud, are you there?" Grady asked. There was only static. He pressed down on the button again. "Renaud, this is Grady. Are you there?" Once again there was static with no response. He placed the walkie-talkie back on his belt. If Renaud wasn't answering, then Grady and his troop were on their own.

The men turned the corner and proceeded down the hallway. Ambrose felt hot and tugged at his own collar. He was starting to sweat. Grady stopped. He was fifteen feet away from the window. Ambrose and de Roos looked over Grady's shoulder and towards the window to see what the matter was. And there, through the shattered glass, the stars moved swiftly through the sky.

Ambrose felt hotter than before, and he even had to wipe the sweat from his brow. The sound of the howling wind seemed to suffocate the men. Not a single one could believe what he was seeing.

"You… you think it's searchlights or something?" Ambrose asked nervously.

"I don't know. God, I hope so," replied Grady. He moved quickly towards the window. He stuck his head out and looked down. There it was. A hand was seen sticking out of an abnormal lump of snow. It was almost a dark blue. Grady closed his eyes and retracted his head. He sat there, hands on the window frame, his head hung low.

de Roos started to approach Grady as Ambrose stood silent. He felt even more heat than before. Ambrose ran his hand through his hair when he felt a sting in his arm. He clutched it to find a burn mark right through his clothing. As the wind started to die, a certain distinctive humming was heard. Grady and de Roos didn't seem to hear it but it bothered Ambrose severely. The humming was so loud! And it seemed to consume him! The heat was now unbearable. He wiped his face and once again felt a pain, but it was on his hand. He slowly turned to find Durhkhan with the blades elongated. Both were on either side of his head, inches away from his ears.

Ambrose froze. His mouth gaped as sound failed to cough through it. The heat closed in, and in one swift motion the blades sawed through the skull and met each other in the middle. The noise was louder than the humming, and Grady and de Roos spun around.

Ambrose fell to his knees with the top half of his head balanced on Durhkhan's laser blades. The top half of his skull was being disintegrated by the second. The blades melted his flesh, destroying the bridge of the nose and coming up under the eyes until they finally rolled out of their sockets and incinerated into the sapphire flames.

The men whipped out their automatic rifles and opened fire. Durhkhan took several hits before he stumbled backwards and hit the wall. He laid there, eyes closed, as if he had drifted into and eternal sleep. Grady pulled out his walkie-talkie again.

"Renaud! Renaud this is Grady, do you read me!" There was a slight pause before the response.

"This is Renaud, go ahead, Grady."

"We got him! We killed the son of a bitch, man!" Grady was excited but frightened to death at the same time. de Roos did not take his focus off the slain beast.

"Okay, good job, Grady. Are you all right?" Renaud asked. Grady did not respond for a good while, but every now and then he heard breathing. "Grady? Is everyone okay?"

"He killed Ambrose."

There was silence. Renaud, on the other end, winced and lifted the walkie-talkie back to his mouth and said, "Okay, Grady. Just sit tight. We'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay, Renaud. But hurry, we're fucking scared as–"

The walkie-talkie cut off into static. Renaud shook his and tried to reach Grady again, but there was no response. He looked at Snider and Van Camp, who had been listening to the conversation the entire time. They acknowledged what was happening, and all three darted for the third compound.

----

Phaira-kur had wandered off. He had found that his office connected to other offices, and he walked in and out those doors without stepping foot into the hallway. He finally reached the hallway, but exited on the side so that Grady and de Roos could not see him. Of course, he had not done that intentionally. Phaira-kur met a set of stairs that led downward. He trotted down merrily and walked into yet another hallway.

He kept pacing through and unknowingly entered the second compound. He stopped and looked around. He had never seen this before. Well, at least he thought he hadn't.

Just then, a man was running towards him. It was dark, but Phaira-kur definitely knew it was a human. The running man still did not see Phaira-kur. It seemed odd that this man was all by himself. And it looked like he was scared. Phaira-kur then noticed the weapon in his hand. Although he had difficulty determining objects, he recognized the rifle instantly.

His eyes squinted as he clenched his fists. This man was not good. Not a good man at all. To Phaira-kur, the running man the others called Thurston had to be stopped before he hurt his friend, Durhkhan.


	7. The Unearthing Begins

Chapter Seven: The Unearthing Begins

The monitor hummed, and then blinked. It blinked again and finally a screen came up revealing that part of the equipment in the laboratory had been damaged. Wald frowned. Of _course _part of the machines had been destroyed; a blast of psionic energy had been channeled through them! Wald was happy that at least part of the entire system was still up, and more importantly, the piece of the system that he needed.

Ames was at the other end of the lab inspecting the damage. A nice, clean cut hole through the computers and the wall. Clean was one way to describe it, but maybe perfect was even better. Ames stepped back to inspect the hole again. He tilted his head and squinted. _Was _it perfect? He hadn't noticed it at first glance. The metal had melted into little streams on the surface, thus making it look a tad sloppy. But Ames was now inspecting it closely, and he went out into the hall and inspected the mess in the wall.

Indeed, the circle looked like a perfect 360 degrees.

He shook his head and almost smiled as he entered back into the laboratory. Wald was sitting at the far end, typing on the computer. It appeared that he did not want to be disturbed, so Ames checked out the containment unit.

It was unbelievable to think that something could penetrate the plasma and laser walls that guarded Durhkhan. Now the entire wall had ceased to operate. Upon closer inspection, Ames found that the emitters had been fried to a crisp. The emitters were the devices hooked to the floor, ceiling, and walls that shot out the plasma a laser fences. They were made of a mix of titanium and albanatrium, two of the strongest metal sources found on Braxis. But here, it made it look like cheap aluminum.

Wald stopped, sighed, and rubbed his face. He looked at the monitor. It told him that the security systems had failed. Yes, Wald was aware of that. He had the crater right next to him to prove it. He scrolled down until he reached something that interested him;

The computer had recorded where the energy was stimulating, from within the cell, within Durhkhan's mind… within a special region of his brain called the europlax. The europlax was supposedly to be an empty part of a Protoss brain. Much like humans, Protoss beings did not use one hundred percent of their minds. But now it seemed that they were wrong, that the vacant brain cells were used for something; energy storage.

Ames looked at the monitor as well and was astonished. Not only had that part of the head been thought useless, it was small. Very, in fact. And that made Ames wary… what if a Protoss was able to store energy in the forplaxtuno, the largest vacant space available? That much of this "psionic potential" could have the force to decimate a city, cause seas to boil… _change climate conditions_.

"Jesus," said Ames. Wald nodded.

"This is the biggest find of our generation, Ames. If we're able to find this joker and sedate him, we could figure out what he's capable of destroying."

Ames was concerned by that. What difference did it make what Durhkhan could destroy? Did it ever occur to Wald that the Protoss could use the energy to prevent natural disasters? Save people when a mine collapsed? No, Wald was not worried about that.

But it brought up another point; if the Protoss were this strong all the time, what had stopped them from using this power to crush the Zerg?

Connant, the cosmic-ray expert, snuck into the lab and quietly closed the door behind him. Ames turned and saw the young scientist.

"What are you doing here, Connant? You're supposed to be in the safety bunker!" scolded Ames. Connant nearly jumped out of his skin. "And besides, why'd you close the door? If you haven't noticed, there's a rather large-"

"Hole in the wall, I know. Thank you. So I'm weird, so what?" he headed for a small piece of equipment. He picked it up, dusted it off, and hit a small button. Papers began to print out of the side, and Connant grabbed and read them.

The machine stopped printing, and he tore off the piece of paper. He switched the device off and studied them intently. Connant then sniffed and looked at Ames and Wald. Then he rolled his tongue around in his mouth and put out a forced smile. Ames frowned as Wald continued to stare at the monitor.

"I'd hate to say it, but things don't seem to go back to normal here. Ever." Connant nearly dropped the papers as his smile dwindled into nothing. "These figures don't make sense, Ames, look at them."

"I don't know anything about astrology, Connant."

"It's astronomy, and you don't _need _to know anything about stars to figure out that this is really strange. Abnormal, even impossible! Would you just look?" Ames stepped forward, and Connant got impatient. "See? These figures tell me that the stars have been in three hundred and twenty-eight different patterns. _Tonight_."

"Okay, yes, that does seem pretty strange. Why, how many patterns are supposed to form every night on average?"

"One."

----

Renaud was running as fast as he could. Van Camp and Snider were struggling to keep up with him. As he darted in and out of certain offices to save time, Renaud thought about what was happening; things were out of control, and the only way to really save anyone was to get them out and bring this facility down in flames… he didn't know why that was the only idea that popped into his head. Maybe it was because he was so tired of this place, that he thought it was a scientific lab of chaos.

He nearly slipped as he burst through the doors to reach the third compound, and he ran up the stairs. He was nearly there now, and he gripped his rifle as firmly as possible. Renaud didn't want to start missing shots now. It would take a steady hand as well as mind.

Van Camp and Snider had finally caught up with him, and the three of them skidded to a stop at the end of the corridor when they saw three figures. Grady was in the corner, underneath the broken window and clutching his arm. He was bleeding. de Roos, however, was not so lucky. Though he was still alive, Durhkhan was gripping his neck, choking him to death.

Renaud, although perplexed as to why Durhkhan would kill him that way, reflexively cocked his rifle, shut one eye as he squinted with the other, and applied pressure to the trigger. Before the bullet left the barrel, Durhkhan looked straight at Renaud, his glowing blue eyes piercing his mind. But Renaud was tough, and the shell slapped Durhkhan straight in the forehead, causing him to release de Roos and whip around, smacking into the wall above Grady and ricocheting back to the floor. Grady covered his head and curled up as much as possible while de Roos coughed and scooted away from the corpse.

A breath of relief escaped from Renaud as he stared at what he had done. Van Camp patted him on the back.

"Nice shot, Renaud," he said.

Van Camp and Snider moved forward to aid their two comrades. They walked right past Ambrose, whose skull was still laying split in two pieces on the ground. Renaud noticed how ironic it was that where the blood from Ambrose's head stopped, the freshly-mopped floor glistened.

"I found Jarvis, Renaud," said Grady as Snider inspected his wound. "He's outside. Take a look."

Renaud moved to the window and looked outside. The blue hand was still there. He looked slightly up and saw a radiant blue figure, staring at the lump that Jarvis was buried under. Renaud blinked. What was he seeing? The figure looked like a specter, gleaming in the dark of night. And he looked again, noticing it was a perfect replica of Jarvis. The Jarvis-specter put his hands in his pockets, slowly looked up and met Renaud's eyes. Renaud was frozen in terror.

The ghost gave a crooked smile, winked, and then dropped to a look of anger. The Jarvis-specter opened its mouth a near foot before emitting a horrible sounding screech. Renaud covered his ears, backing up and tripping over Durhkhan. The rest of the crew looked at him in confusion. Van Camp got up from de Roos to look outside, but saw and heard nothing.

Renaud looked up from his spot to see the Jarvis-specter now suspended in the air at least twenty feet, his hands still in his pockets, and his jaw opened at an abnormal length. The sound continued to prick through the walls as his eyes turned black poured a strange blue substance.

The lieutenant shook his head and cried "No!" and looked again… the specter was gone. Renaud's eyebrows reflected a mood of anger as he went back to the window. Everything was back to normal. He then stared at Durhkhan, a mere zealot.

"He's pulling one of those templar tricks," said Renaud, coolly.

"Tricks? What are you talking about?" asked Snider.

"Hallucination. He's able to cast hallucinations. And he's dead, too. He must have sent something into my brain before I shot him."

"Yeah, I shot him too, idiot," scolded Grady, "but he wasn't dead. I'm an excellent shot, Renaud, so you _know _what that means." Renaud noticed to bullets that scratched the surface of Durhkhan's yellow armor.

"Yes, Grady, I know exactly what it means," started Renaud. "It means you suck. Look, you tried to shoot him in the chest. This stuff is tougher than marine armor, Grady."

"But what did you see, Renaud? And what did you hear?" asked Van Camp.

"I saw Jarvis's ghost just… just…" he stopped. "He was looking at his own corpse, and then he looked at me and winked. Then he started making this horrible noise. I can't even describe it." He saw that the others were a tad confused. "It was just something _I _saw; Durhkhan was trying to scare _me_. Scare me to death, even. And I think that's what he wants."

Grady rolled his eyes and pushed Van Camp away. de Roos got up with the help of Snider, and they started walking down the corridor.

"Grady, let me ask you something," started Renaud. "When Durhkhan came down here, after he killed Ambrose. Who was closer to him?"

"What?"

"You or de Roos? Who was closer to him?"

"I was, but-"

"And he just gave you a quick slash and cast you aside, putting you out of his way." Grady only nodded and then frowned. Renaud thought for a moment. "And then he choked de Roos… _choked _him." _And last night, when I woke up…_ "Snider!" Renaud yelled. Snider turned around as did de Roos. "You dreamed last night, didn't you?" Snider looked perplexed.

"Well, yeah, I did… why?"

"And you dreamed that we were on that mission to retrieve Durhkhan, and everything was just the way it was-"

"Until he killed Thurston," interrupted Van Camp.

Renaud nodded as Grady stood up.

And then he thought. Durhkhan's goal was to kill all of his captors. Sure, Ambrose had nothing to do with it, but maybe he wanted to torment de Roos before he killed him. And when Durhkhan would kill de Roos, he would do it nice and slow; making sure that it hurt him, making sure that he would be sorry for disturbing the zealot.

"He was going to kill the five of us," said Renaud as he stared at the body. "Not anymore. Not unless he has Phaira-kur working for him. If he manipulated the mind of that thing… where _is _that Protoss anyway, Grady?" Grady raised and dropped his shoulders. Renaud ran down the corridor, looked left and then looked right. He dumbly grabbed his walkie-talkie and contacted Newell. "Newell, this is Renaud, do you copy."

There was a pause before Newell said, "This is Newell, go ahead Renaud."

"Listen, do you have Stratham and Thurston still with you?"

"Well, Stratham and I just checked out the top level. I sent Thurston back to-"

"You sent Thurston out into this base alone!" Renaud exclaimed. On the other end, Newell jerked back from the sudden burst of volume. He tried to think of something to say, but Renaud beat him. "Get back to the bunker as fast as you can and if you see Thurston, grab him and take him with you – even if he's dead." Renaud sighed and turned the walkie-talkie off.

Renaud signaled for everyone to follow him. They headed back to the main bunker.


	8. Focus in Deep Space

Chapter Eight: Focus in Deep Space

In the radio room, the same message ran through MacFerran's earphones. The Former Colonial Militia was headed this way, and whether they were friend or foe was unknown. MacFerran had done his best to try and warn Blake that something was moving towards their little isolation booth, but the gargantuan idiot had done nothing. And not only was a force of mysterious men floating in the direction of Braxis, another strange monster lay sleeping in the frozen knolls of Braxis.

That humming; that unstopping, malignant humming!

It was back, and although MacFerran had tried to record it, the message was unplayable. It could have been a fault in the machine, or it could be a deeper threat. But the more he listened to the humming, the more he heard the warning being given.

A Protossian base was broadcasting a wave in search of something, and MacFerran figured that it was Durhkhan and Phaira-kur. The warning part, however, was still unclear. The words "or else" echoed in the chambers of his mind, but the rest of the message was lost to mumbling.

So he gave up. MacFerran released the earphones from his head and tossed the atop the radio equipment. Straatman, who was standing at the door, turned around and looked at the radio operator. He then moved over and looked at the equipment.

"Not broken again, is it?" asked Straatman. MacFerran shook his head and then looked up at the soldier. With one hand he took the headphones and held them to Straatman, who reluctantly took them and placed them on his head. "What am I listening for?"

"This," MacFerran said as he twisted a few dials.

The monotonous humming started, along with the droning voice. The vibration of the thoughts that the Protoss warrior sent pulsed through Straatman's body. He finally gave a perplexed look and removed the headphones.

"It's a Protoss being, isn't it?" MacFerran nodded. "That's odd. They say we can't hurt Phaira-kur or Durhkhan or else they'll destroy us?" he asked MacFerran. The radio operator sat up in his seat.

"Is that what the voice was saying? They're going to _destroy us _if Durhkhan or Phaira-kur is harmed! Christ, I hope Renaud and the rest of his gang aren't out hunting them down!" Straatman motioned his hands to calm MacFerran down.

"No, no. They're just looking for them. I'm pretty sure Renaud is using tranquilizers anyway. Don't worry, MacFerran; nothing bad is going to happen to those two."

----

As Connant realized the absolute madness of the situation, it was still soaking into Ames and Wald.

_Twenty-eight celestial patterns in one night! That's insane! _thought Connant. He paced around the lab before going to one of the astronomy desks and pulling out a space chart. In it were thousands of planets, stars, and black holes, all in their proper place. Connant took a white pencil and circled Braxis, and then he circled Aiur. He looked back and forth at the printouts that he had just received from his machine and the map in front of him. On the map, he wrote the current locations of the stars according to the latest printout. After a few brief moments, he stared in awe.

He wasn't moving. He was hardly even breathing. The thoughts racing in and out of his mind couldn't be recorded, nor could they be slowed down. Ames walked over to the young astronomer and patted him on the back.

"Are you okay, Connant? This whole space deal has really seemed to get to you."

Connant pulled out every other map he had and placed them on the floor, spreading them out and connecting them appropriately. He kept staring at the chart, making sure everything he saw was correct. And when he finally determined that what he saw was true, and that there could be given no argument, he turned to Ames with a half-smile across his face.

"I think I've found something, Ames," Connant uttered. "Look at this chart. Do you see Aiur? It's right there. Right in the center of this map. Now, this obviously isn't all of the stars on this single map, but look at the ones around it." Connant had spread out all of his maps, which was nine. "It's right in the middle. At the core of space, Ames."

Wald scoffed and looked at Connant as if he was mad, but Ames was catching on. The map with Aiur was in the middle of the nine maps, which went three across and three down. And now, Aiur had moved to the very center of the entire vicinity of space that man had explored.

"Aiur is the axis?" Ames asked. Connant nodded. A grin exploded onto both of their faces. "And this is for sure? This is real, isn't it?"

"I can't see anything arguing against it. Aiur is most definitely the focal point of space. And you know why, don't you?"

"The energy?"

"Yes. Aiur has the greatest amount of psionic energy in the universe. And look around it! Braxis is nearby! And so are the other planets that the Protoss inhabit! It's a chain, you see? And next are the human-infested planets. Even Earth is drifting slowly towards Aiur, and planets such as Char are moving away! It's this psionic energy that drives _every_thing! The planets with the highest amount are key; they lie right near Aiur; and the planets with little are out skirted!"

Ames continued to look at the maps.

"But, sadly," he started, "our theory proves false. If psionic energy drives everything, why isn't their any in Zerg creatures? They have shown no signs of using it. Neither have normal humans. Only ghosts are able to do such things as cloaking."

But Connant was prepared for that. He was still smiling when he shook his head at Ames's contradiction.

"Have you ever attempted to measure the psionic levels of a Zerg monster?" he asked. Ames rolled his eyes around before shaking his head. "And in humans, you've never tested a regular human?" Once again, Ames shook his head no. "Test me. Right here. Measure my psionic abilities."

Wald scoffed again before looking through the computer and finding the program that would measure psionic abilities. He found it and had Connant stand in front of a small device attached to the mainframe. In a few seconds, a result popped up on the screen. Wald nearly laughed.

"Out of a one hundred percent psionic potential, you have .0000983 percent potential. It's practically non-existent."

"But tell me, Wald; _do I still have some potential?_" asked Connant, excited.

"Well, yes, but it's so low you couldn't do anything with it."

That wasn't the point, Connant was finding that there was some trace of psionic energy in everything, be it living or unanimated. He then had Wald test the white pencil, with which Wald felt like an idiot for testing the psionic abilities of something that had no intelligence. Yet the test yielded a .000000000000000000000721 percent psionic ability. Wald scoffed.

That was that. Connant was convinced. His theory could not be totally proven right now, but it was a sure-fire thing that all objects had some trace of psionic power, and that it _was _this power that had created the universe, and that it _was _this power that was seeking the center of the universe; yet it was better known as the heart of space.

----

Renaud, de Roos, Van Camp, Snider, and Grady reached the bunker just as Newell and Stratham did. Thurston was not with them.

There was no time for questions. Renaud went into the bunker and moved immediately to Blake, even though the scientists were in an uproar of questions for the leader. But now Blake was talking to MacFerran, who was telling him about the message from the Protoss. Once MacFerran saw Renaud, he nearly pounced on him.

"Did you shoot them? Huh? Are they alive or not!" exclaimed MacFerran.

Looking at Blake, Renaud said, "We got Durhkhan, his body is upstairs." MacFerran slammed his fist into the wall and spun Renaud around.

"You just killed _all _of us! The Protoss are going to _eliminate _anyone who hurts those two! I just heard it on the radio!"

"Well, I wish I had known that earlier, man! It's too late now, he's gone. And I did it to save the lives of Grady and de Roos!" Renaud paused. "But we'll get the tranquilizer guns in case Phaira-kur comes along. Okay?" MacFerran nodded.

"So what's the deal, Renaud?" asked Blake. "Where are Thurston and Ambrose? And Jarvis?" Renaud shook his head. "Wonderful. I leave you in charge and you get them killed. I knew I should have led the expedition." Blake moved to the weapons cabinet and pulled out a tranquilizer gun. He loaded it and moved back to Renaud. "From now on I'll lead the courageous missions."

The look between the eyes of Renaud and Blake were of pure hatred now. Renaud had not wanted anyone to die, not even the slimy Protoss. And here was Blake, being the giant idiot of a leader he was, blaming Renaud for everything as usual.

"We're going out and hunting for that pig. Right now," Blake said to the soldiers. As he did, Garrett, Straatman, Wald, Ames, and Connant were all entering the bunker. Renaud tried to stop Blake.

"Look, you fool; don't you see that hunting isn't working? It got two men killed, for Christ's sake! We need to come up with a plan to capture that thing without hurting him! I mean, you don't want to give him back and have him say to all his Protoss buddies that we harmed him!"

"Oh, don't be stupid, Renaud. That piece of dirt is as dumb as a rock."

"Then he's still smarter than you. And let me tell you something, Blake. I don't think Phaira-kur is dumb at all! I think he's a fucking genius! So don't you go pissing him off!"

Blake pushed Renaud away with the tranquilizer gun, and Renaud struck forward with his arms reaching for Blake's neck. Van Camp grabbed Renaud and tried to stop him, but that only helped Blake slam Renaud's stomach with the butt of the rifle. Renaud heaved in pain, nearly falling over. Blake lifted the butt of the gun again to hit Renaud's head when Snider pounced on top of him. Newell and Stratham pulled Snider off, and the commotion was unbelievable.

Once the fighting had stopped, Renaud looked at Blake and flicked him off.

"You shouldn't be in charge, Blake. You're going to get all of us killed," Renaud said as he wheezed.

Blake stood on top of a small box to address the crowd.

"Gentlemen, I have some news for you. Renaud here thinks that my methods are unreasonable. So I'm now going to ask you all to do the following: choose who you would rather follow. Me or Renaud. Renaud let two men die while he was out chasing the monsters. I plan to keep everyone safe. I mean, no one in this bunker was hurt, were they? I'm going out to hunt down Phaira-kur by any means necessary, and everyone who believes in me can follow. Arm yourselves and join me… or stay here with that scum we call Renaud."

Blake stepped down from the box and looked straight into Renaud's eyes.

"Happy trails, Renaud. I thought you were on my side, but I guess not." Blake left the bunker with a mob of scientists with weapons behind him. In the distance, Renaud heard Blake yell, "Split up and find the Protoss bastard!" Following that was a cheer from the men.

Renaud was now propped up against the wall of the bunker with his few followers: Van Camp, Snider, MacFerran, Garrett, Straatman, Stratham, Newell, Connant, de Roos, and Ames.

He couldn't believe that he had lost the trust of all those scientists in the base. He couldn't believe that they thought Blake was better fit to lead than him. And most of all, he couldn't believe that so many people were marching off to their death.

"We're with you, Renaud," Van Camp said, smiling. Renaud smiled back as he sighed. He slowly stood up, with Van Camp and Snider helping him by clutching his arms.

He looked at what was left of the weapons chest. Nothing. The scientists – who knew quantum physics and analytical chemistry but didn't know how to fire a gun – had taken everything. Renaud was left with what he had and what the soldiers had.

"What's the plan, big daddy?' asked Snider.

Renaud's eyes fixated on the badge that Blake had dropped.

"They're going to kill Phaira-kur if they feel it's necessary," said Renaud. "We can't let that happen. We've had that poor creature locked up so long… and now that it's out they want to just eliminate it."

"Well, he _is _very dangerous," said Ames.

"I know he is. But only because of what we did. We have to get Blake's tranquilizer – any tranquilizer – and put Phaira-kur to sleep and give him back. Or leave him somewhere. But we can't kill him. One is enough; those Protoss may spare us if we keep Phaira-kur alive."

"Well, how do we keep him alive when Blake and all of them are hunting him?" asked Van Camp.

"It's simple, but dark," started Renaud. "They're hunting for Phaira-kur? Well, we're hunting for Blake."

----

Phaira-kur wasn't moving. He could only stare. Who had done this? Who had killed Durhkhan? His body was just lying there, helpless, and there was nothing Phaira-kur could do. An enragement swelled inside of Phaira-kur's feeble body as he held Thurston's neck with one hand.

Thurston's legs were scrambling about on the floor as he grasped Phaira-kur's hand, trying to break free. But the Protoss zealot was just holding him like a toy.

A blue energy started to accumulate on the palm of Phaira-kur's hand, and Thurston could feel a burning sensation. He became more erratic; flinging his legs about as he beat at the hand that held him.

But Phaira-kur was too concentrated on finding the evil-doer that had hurt Durhkhan. This was unacceptable. This would be the ultimate punishment.

As he gaped at his fallen companion, he clenched his fist, with a zap of the sapphire psionic energy, and Thurston slumped to the ground with his neck stretched and withered.

Phaira-kur closed his eyes and held his head. Was now the time? Was it time for him to unleash his full capabilities? No… not until he found the murderer of Durhkhan.

Not until this horrible dream had ended.


	9. Old Faces

Chapter Nine: Old Faces

_"And it will fall out as in a complication of diseases, that by applying a remedy to one sore, you will provoke another; and that which removes the one ill symptom produces others"_

-Sir Thomas More

The small group that stood for their own view of "righteousness" sat in the bunker, unable to move. It wasn't that they were physically incapable of doing so; it was their leader that was too stressed to budge. Renaud was sitting on the ground, his head and back leaning against the wall as his eyes stayed closed and his hands hooked around his one erected knee.

He sniffed every so often, swallowing and then clearing his throat. Good men were going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. And now he felt helpless, lost… but it wouldn't be the end. It _couldn't _be the end.

Blake had to be stopped; there was no arguing in that. He was the reason that several more bodies would be mangled before the sun streaked its harmonious rays upon the facilities outer perimeter. Connant and Ames were bugging Renaud every minute, trying to get him to listen to their incredible find. MacFerran was going crazy over the fact that Durhkhan had been killed. He thought that message was right, that the broadcaster would kill everyone.

But now, Renaud was silent, trying to regain his saneness before wiggling a finger. Connant looked at Ames before deciding to shut up and sit down. And after a few seconds of peace and quiet, Renaud bolted upward, his eyes jolting open. He looked up as his crew stared at him with great anticipation. For the first time in what seemed forever, Renaud smiled.

He got up and went to the door, looking down both ways of the hall before turning back to the group, moving like lightning. They were all standing silent, like drones awaiting orders. They knew Renaud had come up with something genius.

Renaud got down on all fours and felt around on the floor. He paused for a moment, watching as the men gave him a perplexed look.

"There's a secret compartment under one of these tiles," Renaud said. "Only Blake and I know about them. Now, hurry! We have to find it! Hurry!"

It took a second, but the remainder of the group fell to the ground and ran their fingers over the dirt-infested bunker. Renaud knocked on one of the tiles, but found the relaying sound to be thick; there was only concrete underneath.

Van Camp began to knock as well, and so did Snider. But it was Stratham who hit a tile that sounded hollow, and he dug his short fingernails into the edges of the overlay and attempted to liberate it from the ground. Renaud shuffled over and slid to a halt on his knees and peered into the small square hole. It was actually much deeper than it looked; enough to hold three rifles and three tranquilizer guns. He lifted them out, handing rifles to Van Camp, Snider, and Stratham, while keeping one tranquilizer gun to himself and relieving the other two to Straatman and Newell.

Connant said, "Hey, Renaud, don't _I _get a gun?" Renaud nearly laughed when the young and skinny scientist inquired, but he thrust his fist back into the gap and pulled out a grenade. He tossed it to Connant, who nearly dropped the small device after it hit him in the chest. Renaud started to get up.

"Now," he began, "Blake is going to be sending people out all over the complex, so be alert. We don't want to have to shoot anyone and we don't want anyone shooting at us. Being their scientists and don't know shit about guns, they'll be pretty nervous, and they'll fire at anything that moves. We don't have much ammo, so you three have _specific _targets, do you understand? Don't shoot _anyone _except for Blake and Grady; they're the most experienced and probably will get to Phaira-kur first." Renaud thought for a second. "Let me say that again; they'll be the first ones to find Phaira-kur and not get killed. I have a feeling anyone else who tangles with him won't live to tell about it."

"What about us with the tranquilizers?" asked Straatman. Renaud smiled to one side of his face as he cocked the gun.

"Phaira-kur. That's all we're trying to hit. But we need to get him out of the building first."

"How do you manage to do that?" asked de Roos.

"Simple," Renaud said. "We're going to go in two groups; one is for hunting, the other is to bring Durhkhan outside." The men mumbled as Renaud tried to sooth them with waving his hands calmly. "He's dead, so we don't have to worry about that. Now, once we get the body outside, Phaira-kur will want to follow. Their like mates or something, best buds, I don't know. The point is, once he's safely outside – that's if we don't hit him with a dart inside the base – we can put him down and wait for the Protoss boys to come pick him up."

"How do you know that will work?" asked Snider.

"Ask MacFerran, not me."

Attention turned to MacFerran, who was leaning against the wall, and his eyes suddenly shot open.

"Huh?" he said. "Uh, well… Yeah, the Protoss sounded pretty upset. I mean, we're all going to die, so I don't see what the point is-"

"Just tell them what you told me, MacFerran."

The radio operator pushed off against the wall and walked to the center of the room. He put his hands on his hips, staring at the vacant walls that once suspended several gauss as well as C-11 rifles. He turned around, facing the crowd.

"The Protoss sent out this message; some strange, odd message about eliminating anyone who hurt these two warriors. And now… now since Durhkhan is dead, they're coming here to kill us."

"But I plan on giving them Phaira-kur, and hopefully they won't kill us," Renaud finished.

"Well, they can kill Blake, that's okay," added Van Camp. Renaud smiled.

"Here's the plan: Van Camp, Snider, and Stratham, you come with me. We're going to go get Blake and Grady and see if we can't cut off Phaira-kur. Newell and Straatman; you take everyone else and bring them to Durhkhan's body. de Roos knows the way. I want you all to carry it outside, or at least to the back entrance of the same building and wait for us there. Got it?" They all nodded.

"Good," he said. He went to the door. "And once we've gotten him outside and to a safe distance, the second part of the plan kicks in."

"What's that?" asked Garrett.

"We have to bring this entire camp down."

----

Blake stood at the base of an entrance to the overhead air duct with Grady, Greck, Silas, and Temple behind him. The rest of the scientists had run off to various parts of the base, stomping around wildly looking for the beast which they thought they knew everything about.

He turned to Greck and Temple and sent them off to the galley to look. Grady stared up into the duct with a doubtful look on his face.

"He ain't gonna be up there, Blake," Grady said sarcastically.

"I know that, Grady. I want you and Silas to go up and search around the entire base in these ducts. It'll be easy and you'll be safe; there's nothing to worry about."

"Then what are you going to do?" scolded Grady.

"I'm searching by foot. Hell, I might even join Greck. God knows he's probably complaining about something," he replied. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Now, look; if you see Renaud, kill him. I don't care if you have to _gag _him, just _do it_. Do I make myself clear?"

Silas nodded obediently as Grady smiled.

"It'd be my pleasure."

Blake ran off into the darkness as Grady hopped onto Silas's hands and was pushed into the air duct. Grady turned around to help pull Silas up, too. They crawled around in deserted canals that didn't hold even insect life. But it was warm. Oh, was it warm!

Grady heard someone beneath him as they entered the second building. He stopped and squinted to look through one of the filtered vents. It was just a moron scientist, moving about like an idiot. Grady nearly laughed when he smacked into the wall and fell down. But then something caught his eye. Out into the darkness there was something blue glowing. An eerie sapphire luminescence blazed in the absence of color, and it began to strafe towards the panicked scientist. Grady readied his gun and attempted to knock down the filtered vent, but it did not work.

"What are you doing, Grady? What the hell is the holdup?" asked Silas, impatiently. Grady waved his hand violently up and down to get Silas to be quiet. As he looked back through the vent, he could see that the scientists as well as the menacing cerulean sabers had disappeared. "What? What was it?" Silas whispered.

Grady sighed, "I thought I saw something… like that Protoss freak that's dead." He laughed. "I'm seeing things, for Christ's sake."

"Then let's keep moving," Silas said." Grady nodded and turned his head to look at his companion.

"Yeah, let's-"

Grady stopped short. As his face ceased to function, Silas took note of where his eyes were placed. _Something was right behind him._

The scientist creaked his head to view in back of him, and saw a claw of cobalt fire piercing the underside of the duct like a shark tail. It slowly started to move towards Silas, who scurried on all fours to get away. He bumped into Grady, who was still not moving.

"Go!" yelled Silas, pushing the astonished soldier. "Go, you fucking idiot! Go!"

And with that, Grady turned and crept away from the blue razor. He went faster and faster, slapping his back against the top of the canal and wearing out the knees of his pants. Silas was following, looking back every now and then.

The blade had not moved up until then, but it suddenly started to glide through the cheap metal, heading towards the duo. Silas pushed Grady to go faster, who did so in response.

"How close is it! Silas, how close is it!"

"I don't know, just keep going!"

The sapphire knife cut through the duct with extreme ease, chasing the two faster and faster.

As Grady paced through the channel, his leg kicked up hitting Silas in the face. The scientist's hands lost place and he hit the bottom of the duct before scurrying to get moving again. But now the blade was right behind him, and he wasn't moving fast enough.

Not only that, but there was a two foot gap between him and Grady.

A second blade burst through the vent in front of Silas, and he came to a screeching halt.

Grady kept moving, totally directionless. Silas looked back and forth as the two blades sat and stared at him, almost mocking him; they were _daring _him to make a move… _playing a game of tag with his life…_

Both sabers moved towards him at an excruciatingly slow speed. Silas propped himself up against the wall, hopping he could move around them. He put both hands on either side of the wall and swung his legs over the blade. When he landed, he stumbled, only because he was missing a foot to land on.

As he shook uncontrollably from the shock of a lost extremity, the two blades behind him began to circle around. He could only stare as blood poured from the bottom of his leg, and Silas cried in pain closed his eyes, waiting for it all to stop.

The blades completed their circle and the part of the duct fell out. Silas heard the clank of the metal almost as soon as he felt the hands of an alien grasp his waist. It pulled him though the hole waist first, and his legs and arms flailed as he attempted to stay in. He heard a pounding of metal coming from behind him. It was Grady!

Grady grabbed Silas's hands and tried to free him, but the force of the monster was much stronger. Suddenly, Silas disappeared through the hole, and Grady nearly fell through as well. He saw as Phaira-kur made the blade appear from his hand, and before he plunged it into Silas, his head snapped around and looked at Grady.

The soldier pushed himself back up through the hole and began to crawl away again. He heard a fatal scream as he went, stopping to look back. The two blades appeared again. This time they were hungry for a _soldier._

----

The group that was going after Durhkhan's body moved with great haste. de Roos led them through the complex, avoiding any sign of life that they could. Unfortunately, they were unable to do that. While cutting a corner, Connant smacked into Wald, and both fell down. Connant quickly got up, and both he and Ames offered a hand to help Wald. The old scientist frowned and batted their hands away.

He got up and started to move out again.

"Wald, come with us!" Ames exclaimed. Wald stopped and turned slowly.

"What? Come with _you_? What are you, crazy?" he snapped. "I never want to see you again, Ames. You betrayed me first when we were in the lab with everyone else, making me look like a _fool. _Then you go and believe everything this nut tells you about 'planets moving' and all that bullshit," he said as he gestured towards Connant. "Then, to top it all off, you join Renaud on his quest for death. Well, let me tell you something, Ames; I'm going to the lab to take all the information we have. I'm going to go to Boralis and turn it all in, and I'm going to be rich. You two? You'll be dead."

Wald began to move away again before Ames stopped him. The rest of the group except for Connant had moved on.

"Wald, come on! We've been friends since grad school! You can't just turn on me like this."

"Turn on _you_!" Wald exploded. "_Turn on you_! You betrayed _me_, you sack of dirt! To _hell _with you!"

Wald wound his fist and let it rip straight into Ames's chest, who keeled over. The old scientist spit on Ames and then proceeded to go to the lab. Connant helped Ames and looked up at Wald's back.

"You know, Wald; you were always a _lousy _scientist," Connant remarked.

Wald stopped for a moment, clenched his fists and moved on.

"Come on, Ames; we have to catch up with the rest of the group," Connant said. He propped the old man up and they were on their way.

The rest of the group, however, was already at Durhkhan's body, staring at the death that surrounded it. Thurston was dead. Ambrose was dead. Out the window, Jarvis was dead. de Roos was the first one to move, and he went and stood directly over the Protoss body.

He turned around and said, "His armor is gone."


	10. Upsurge

Chapter Ten: Upsurge

Greck's beautiful kitchen had been turned into a rampaged heap of rubbish. Dishes had been smashed, glasses had been destroyed, and all the hard work that he had put into the meal lay splattered on the table or on the floor, and in some cases rested in vomit from fear. There was no doubt about it; Greck would be the one to clean it all up. When Blake had sent him off with Temple, the first place they visited was the galley. It bothered Greck very much that the only thing he cared about in the entire base other than himself was hurting. He stared at the wreckage, shaking his head.

Temple poked his head into the freezer, seeing if the elusive figure had darted through this area. But there was nothing here; not even a trace of the monster besides the mess he had left in his wake when he first froze the scientific minds with fear. Upon further investigation, though, Temple and Greck discovered that Phaira-kur _had _romped through sometime ago.

The counter on the far end of the kitchen was sawed in half, and the metal had spewed over the sides, solidifying into a drop formation. But if this cut were fresh, the steel/titanium top would be hot, at least according to logical reasoning. Greck and Temple had no reason to believe the monster was still hiding in the shadows, but they still carried on cautiously.

Soon after the mysterious slice had been unveiled, the duo heard a rapping at the swinging door; it was the back exit from the galley into a small storage room that Greck hardly ever used. When Greck thought about it, he remembered that the only thing in that room was a small supply of breakfast materials. Temple motioned from the cook to sit still as he moved in.

He moved closer as the rapping stayed continuous, menacingly tapping at the swinging wooden doors that sat so still. Surely if there was someone _making _that noise, the doors would have to budge in some minute fashion. But no! The gates sat in their crooked position, the left half loosing one of the screws that held it to the wall.

And the tapping went on, and on, and on…

Finally Temple slashed his arms at the door and with one swift stroke did he enter and spin through the cubby hole of a room. But the only things that moved were the doors and a chain that was latched to a light above. The end of the string was a small metal ball, and pulling the cord lit the room instantaneously. Temple shook his head in anger to find that a string too close to the door had caused him enough stress for a heart attack. He tugged at it and the dim light bulb illuminated.

"So, what was it?" Greck asked nervously. Temple was not looking at Greck's position, who was standing at the doors, his eyes and nose peeking over.

"Ah, it was nothing. Just that God-damned string," Temple stared at the vacancy of the small room, looking for anything unusual. The only matter that caught his eye was the string's going back to the repetitive tap.

Greck grunted and went back to the kitchen as Temple gazed at the string. Was it a small breeze or draft that caused the string to move in such an awkward manner? It had to be; the string was not moving by itself. _I hate this damn place_, Temple thought as he looked back at the walls. But there was no window, and that confused him. Looking up at the ceiling, he found no vent of any kind. _Well, I know the string isn't moving by itself! _

"Greck!" He called. "Greck, come here for a sec!" He wanted to ask the man who knew this sector better than he.

Greck dragged his feet back angrily.

"What the hell do you want, huh? I want to start cleaning this mess!" But Temple paid no attention to his weak argument.

"Where the hell's the vent in here?" Temple asked. Greck cocked his head back as if he had inquired what the sum of two plus two was.

"There's no vent in there, Temple. No vent at all. Now, can you stop with your retardedness and help me-"

"Then why is this cord still moving?" Greck then peered over the wooden doors to see as the string swung back in forth in a weak matter, tapping against the door. Rapping, rapping, _rapping…_

----

Renaud was kneeling at the beginning of a hallway. Stratham, Snider, and Van Camp waited behind him, looking around to make sure no crazed scientist was running trigger-happy. The lights were on. Someone had been through here. Whether they were waiting for Phaira-kur or just plain stupid, Renaud decided to test their sanity. He retrieved the handgun from his side and carefully shot out each fluorescent light that magnified Jarvis's waxed floors.

And he pulled the trigger with a plink

Plink

Plink.

The corridor now loomed over the four with a certain disdain for life, and Renaud signaled to move carefully. About halfway down, a rustling was heard from above them. They froze and instantly turned their attention to what was aloft, hearing the scratching and scurrying. Renaud's eyes fixated on the vent grate in the center of the hall, and sure enough, whatever figure was crawling started to pass by.

"Who in the hell would be up in the vent?" asked Stratham.

"I'd rather know why they're in such a hurry," whispered Snider. But Snider's question would be answered soon enough. When the hand touched and put weight to the vent, it fell through. Grady plunged to the ground face-first, only to get up and scramble away from his location.

Renaud watched in confusion as the once-menacing soldier paid no attention to him and ran off, smacking into a wall at the end. Soon, a constant humming was heard.

"What is that?" asked Van Camp. The four were all leaning against the one side of the hallway, but slowly moved to the other side as the humming grew louder.

"He's here," Renaud announced, and everyone aimed at the wall, expecting a great beast to emerge.

But the humming only stopped and disappeared.

Grady breathed a sigh of relief, and Renaud – who seemed locked in place – came out of his non-animated position and swiftly walked to his nemesis. The soldier looked up at the lieutenant, and only a small amount of hatred passed between them.

"What happened?" Renaud said with a cold look. Grady only tilted his head to see if Phaira-kur was really not coming, and once that had been found true, looked at the men who followed him.

"Wonderful. The whole gang is here. Don't you guys have a goody-goody contest to go to?" Renaud kept the same blank stare. Grady only looked down after this, realizing that they had seen him run scared from the beast. "The Phaira-kur thing killed him, Renaud! It _killed _Silas! And he was coming after _me_!"

Renaud looked at the air duct, but there was certainly nothing there now. Grady looked up again, and Renaud grabbed his collar, yanking him to the ground.

"You're coming with us," he said.

Renaud led the men down the hall and started to follow the vent. They twisted in and out of turns within the complex, and eventually he let Grady lead. The stubborn soldier brought them to the starting point of the failed crusade. Renaud looked up into the air duct, but saw nothing.

"And if you go up you'll see a pretty big hole about thirty or so feet away. Silas is down there."

Renaud nodded. Van Camp meshed his two hands together and propped Snider up and into the vent. Snider crawled through the maze carefully, and finally came to the hole Grady spoke of. He cautiously rolled his eyes over the liquefied metal and saw Silas.

Quickly he retracted his head to keep from vomiting; the sight of the slain man was absolutely horrific.

Snider came back, silently coming out of the air duct only to be bombarded with questions, but he could only tell them to go see it for themselves. Renaud was taken aback at how such a brave soldier could be quieted in such a way.

----

Connant and Ames were still chatting about their remarkable discovery even after the body of Durhkhan was found. Garrett, Straatman, de Roos, and Newell all grabbed a limb and began to carry the battered body outside. The two scientists kept rambling on and on to each other as the soldiers became more and more aggravated.

"So what theories can psionic ability, if it truly is in everything, prove?" asked Ames, still in shock over the young man's genius.

"Well, it's hard to say. I'd like to head in to Boralis and get on a transport out of here so I can further study this. Maybe I'll head to Aiur," Connant said, thinking out loud. Then he looked at the deceased body of Durhkhan, and the wrath the Protoss warriors might show. "On second thought, maybe that's a bad idea."

Ames smiled and looked ahead down the corridor. He saw the exit, and paced ahead of the soldiers to help open it for them. Connant stayed back, supporting the head of the slain creature. The group carried Durhkhan outside and gently laid him on the snow. The wind was blowing strongly now, and they all quickly scurried back inside.

As the group talked about what to do and where to go, Ames and Connant naturally suggested the lab. The soldiers looked at them as if they were mad. Newell rolled his eyes.

"You do whatever the hell you want," Newell said.

"Hey, man; wait a minute," Straatman put in. "I don't want these two getting killed. They've done a lot of work, and they're on our side, unlike everyone else. If they go, we go." Newell rolled his eyes again, but de Roos, MacFerran, and Garrett seemed to agree. "Will we be able to see Durhkhan's body from a window in the lab? I want to make sure Renaud's plan works."

Connant and Ames said that there were two windows that the men could scout from. Straatman nodded, and the group headed for the lab. The scientists practically ran as the other men walked slowly, dreading the science facility as a whole.

Once in the lab, they both went straight back to the maps and studied them some more. Ames went to a file cabinet and pulled out older space charts that had been recorded every six months for the last ten or so years. A few maps were missing, but they weren't needed to complete the puzzle.

The scientists calculated the amount of movement of each planet from the first map to the last, noticing how everything had moved somewhat closer; this strayed from Connant's original theory.

He had thought that planets with very little psionic potential were moving away from Aiur, but they, too, were moving closer. The rate was much, much slower than planets such as Braxis, but they were still heading towards the great beacon.

"Do you realize," Ames started, "that in a few million years there will be an unbelievable amount of energy around Aiur?" Connant nodded.

"With all of that force," Connant said, "it would be surprising if everything was still intact."

Ames was confused by this. "What do you mean?"

Connant leaned on the table and looked at the soldiers who stood by the windows. "I'm just saying with all the stars and planets, it would be amazing if nothing collided or exploded. And what happens when everything gets there? We have just one big ball of energy? Aiur isn't a black hole; it's not eating everything away. But it is drawing a lot of crap in."

MacFerran left the window and headed over towards Connant.

"You're a scientist, Connant," he started. "How do you think the universe started?"

Connant was caught off guard by the question and looked at the radio operator. "I've always believed in cosmic dust theory. Not real sure. Never interested me, really. What about you, Ames?"

"Cosmic dust theory. I'm the same as you. Never really was interested with what happened in the beginning. I always let God handle it," Ames said with a small smile. MacFerran nodded and folded his arms. "Why do you want to know?"

"Oh," MacFerran said, "it's just always really interested me. I heard what you two were talking about, and it reminded me a lot of this thing I was taught in school. Big bang theory or something." Connant and Ames both shot looks at each other. "Maybe it was big bam… I don't know."

Connant's jaw slowly slid open as he looked at the chart again. He looked at Ames, and both were shocked.

"That's it," Connant said.

"What's it?" asked MacFerran.

"I can't believe it! It'll happen again! An endless cycle… holy shit!" Ames shouted.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Garrett said, moving his focus off the snow outside.

"That's fucking brilliant!" Connant exclaimed. He grabbed MacFerran's face and kissed him on the forehead. "Brilliant!"

Ames and Connant jumped on each other, giving the other the biggest hug in scientist history. Both of them, with the help of MacFerran, had found that the universe was going to repeat the big bang. Over, and over, and over. Aiur was the starting point. Aiur was the center. Aiur truly was the heart of space.


	11. Liberation

_Author's Note: This is it! The final chapter of The Hearts of Space. Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially Smurfkiller and Cairdian-Shadow. Enjoy guys, and thanks for reading along._

Chapter Eleven: Liberation

"_Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses there."_

-E.M. Cioran

Renaud looked at Grady. His nemesis was trying to hold back from shaking with fear. It wasn't Renaud that frightened him. It was the awesome power of an unstable monster that made him wish there were no shadows. Grady shook his head as he watched Snider's response to Silas' corpse. He paced backwards and leaned against the wall, hitting his head and looking upwards.

"Where's Blake?" asked Renaud.

Grady shrugged and went back to shaking his head. Renaud didn't bother asking him again; he knew that at this point Grady wouldn't bother lying. He looked at his soldiers; Snider was still recovering from shock; Van Camp was tending to him; Stratham guarding the hallway.

He couldn't fail this team like he had in his dream. He wouldn't let anyone else be destroyed. Even though he knew that Phaira-kur must be saved, he would willingly sacrifice himself for the men that had stood at his side throughout the entire ordeal.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a strange scream, followed by an echo of gunfire. The dining hall was not far, and that is where the scream had originated. Renaud searched his mind trying to figure who would bother going into galley after it had been rampaged…

Greck.

The group didn't spare a second thought. They dashed towards the dining hall in hopes of finding Phaira-kur alive and well.

Renaud was the first one in, and he stopped when he saw the situation. In the middle of the kitchen, Phaira-kur was standing tall, looking at Greck. Greck was holding his set of knives, throwing each by the blade one at a time. The knives couldn't even hit Phaira-kur; they flew off as if a barrier had formed around him.

Temple was behind Phaira-kur, leaning against the ovens and stoves. He was firing his machine gun, but nothing was happening. The bullets, like the knives, trickled off the surface of the barrier. Renaud grasped his tranquilizer gun tightly. He would have to inject it into Phaira-kur manually.

Renaud took out the darts and held a few in each hand. He charged forward, running at the Protoss. He dove at him, the darts outstretched. But a single hand movement caused Renaud to fly off course and into Temple. Van Camp and Snider opened fire, trying to distract the monster from Greck, who was obviously panicking.

Greck threw yet another knife at Phaira-kur. The warrior lifted both his hands and closed his black eyes. A sudden force pushed Greck into the freezer, and another force closed the door.

Temple pushed Renaud away and dropped his machine gun.

"I've had enough of your shit, Renaud!" Temple shouted. Renaud started to stand, but Temple kicked him in the ribcage. The soldier then pulled out his hunting knife and prepared to stab the brave leader. He stopped and looked at Phaira-kur, then his blade. "I'll use it on _him _first!" he said to Renaud.

Renaud opened his mouth to stop him, but Temple leapt onto Phaira-kur's back attempting to plunge the dagger into his neck. The Protoss wasted no time. His bony grey fingers, so thin and wiry, flew back and sunk into Temple's eyes. The fingers dug deeper and deeper as Temple screamed.

Grady, Stratham, Van Camp, and Snider stopped firing, too afraid to hit the wounded soldier. But Grady quickly realized that his own life was in danger and decided not to worry about Temple's misfortune. He snatched away Van Camp's rifle and fired at Phaira-kur's feet, but with no outcome.

The fingers nestled deep in the caverns of Temple's skull. Temple's screaming stopped as he dropped the knife and went into a total state of shock. Renaud took one dart and lunged at Phaira-kur. Somehow he had become distracted with Grady's firing, as well as his own breed of torture, and Renaud was able to hit him in the lower back.

But Phaira-kur wouldn't let him escape easily. The fingers inside Temple's brain hooked upward. Temple's body jolted uncontrollably in response, and Phaira-kur swung the paralyzed body at Renaud and struck him square in the gut. Renaud slammed into the oven with Temple's corpse on top of him.

Van Camp picked up Renaud's gun, which he had left with them, and removed two final darts. He handed one to Snider, and both ran at Phaira-kur.

Phaira-kur pushed them both to one side. Renaud shook his head as he smelled gas rising out of the damaged stove top. He got Temple's body off of him and quickly gathered the two, rushing back to Stratham and Grady.

The Protoss leaned his head back and lifted his hands. A large ball of energy began to form… he had learned this from Durhkhan.

Renaud felt his coat and searched his pockets as the other soldiers started down the hall, attempting to avoid the death that Phaira-kur was about to cause. Though his movements were a bit slower, the Protoss warrior was still a force to be reckoned with. Renaud finally found his matches and grabbed his kerchief. He picked a bottle from Greck's fine wine collection, and soaked the rag with it. He stuffed the kerchief into the top of the bottle and lit it with the match.

He readied his hand and aimed for the oven. The bottle was released, and Renaud then ran after his comrades.

The oven exploded in a brilliant fireball, and Phaira-kur flew through the doorway and into the dining hall. The energy that he had collected was released upwards into the ceiling, causing another explosion. But his got up and stared back at where he was standing. He could still get them with his psionic forces. All of them; Renaud, Grady, Van Camp, Greck, Stratham, Snider… _all_ of them.

----

Greck was still in the freezer. He had hit his head hard against a metal shelf, and he took his time getting himself ready to get up and out. He picked up his knives and pounded on the door, trying to open it. The cook started to panic again. He backed up, ran forward and smacked his shoulder on the door, hoping the force would swing it open.

"Let me out! Oh, God! Please let me out!" he screamed as tears started to run down his face. The temperature was unbearable. He sniffed and whimpered as he continually rushed at the steel door. Greck finally collected himself, leaned forward, and jumped at the door with all his might. He bounced off and slipped on a small patch of frost beneath his feet.

Greck's legs swung out and he fell on his back, releasing his knives in the air. He immediately covered his face and curled up, but nothing hit him.

Not only that, but he didn't even hear the knives _land._ Slowly he opened his eyes, looking at the ground around him. Nothing. Not a single blade. Greck sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He sluggishly ran his fingers around his eyes, pulling away tears of fright.

It was silent outside. He couldn't hear the men screaming at each other or bullets flying. That scared him more than anything. He had heard the explosion, but felt nothing. _Oh, Jesus, that thing killed them all!_ his panicked mind thought.

He slid his way to the door and knocked on it. No answer from the other side. He whimpered again and put his back to it, smacking his head on it repeatedly.

Greck stopped after he knew he would be in the freezer until help arrived, which might be _hours. _He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, afraid of the cold and the monster that had left him here. His eyes lazily opened, then blinked.

Then he blinked again.

Above him were his knives, leisurely flying in a circle near the ceiling. A blue energy surrounded them, and they continued to spiral. Greck's jaw slid open as he realized the absolute horror that engulfed him. Cautiously his left hand felt its way up the door to try and grasp the handle.

"Please… please, no," he whispered. One of the knives stopped in its place as the others went on their path. It floated for a moment. Greck looked at the sharp blade.

It flew at him with the speed of lightning, going straight into his gaping mouth and tearing his throat. Immediately his arms jolted out as his legs kicked forward, straightening like boards of wood.

The pain couldn't be described. Greck could feel the blood running into his lungs, filling every corner. The knife continued to sink in, and eventually cut through the back of his neck. Greck attempted to keep his head still, but lost control when he saw the other knives stop in place.

----

As Connant and Ames were now celebrating about yet _another _revelation, de Roos alerted them to movement outside. The entire crew rushed to the windows to see. A large figure was standing over Durhkhan's body. The snow was flying too hard to see anything clearly, but it was too big to be a human. It had to be Phaira-kur for sure. The only confusing thing was that the figure looked as if it was wearing a cloak…

They continued to watch as the figure looked outward into the snow, went back to gazing at Durhkhan, and then cocked its head in their direction. The group took a step back as if a ghost had looked them in the eye. The figure then turned and walked out into the spiraling abyss.

Newell stepped forward again, trying to find the creature in the darkness. He shook his head furiously and looked to the men behind him.

"He's gone! We'll have to go out and get him back!" Newell announced. Straatman jerked his head back in amazement.

"There's no way I'm going out there!" Straatman claimed, nearly laughing as if Newell had made some sort of joke. MacFerran grabbed his collar.

"Aw, come on already," MacFerran said, dragging him out the door. The rest of the group followed with Newell bringing up the rear. He took one last look out the window before he turned to leave.

Little did he or anyone know that Wald had been hiding in the closet near the entrance of the lab. When Newell passed, Wald quickly sprang out and slashed his throat with a broken beaker. Connant was in front of Newell, and turned around when he heard the commotion.

Newell fell to the ground, clutching his neck as blood seeped through his fingers. His eyes bulged as his tongue hung out of his mouth. Newell's face turned red, and he stared at Connant before falling over.

The young scientist fell backwards in fright, and Wald, now crazed with a deranged grin on his face, grabbed Connant's neck and held the broken beaker in the air. Wald put his face next to Connant's and whispered evilly.

"_I'm _the top scientist around here, Connant. _I'm the one who's reporting this! _It's _my _work! It's all _mine_!" Wald said as his voice grew louder. Ames and de Roos turned around and saw the deadly situation.

"Jesus Christ, Wald! What are you doing!" exclaimed Ames.

Wald's grin disappeared as surprise covered his complexion. He quickly dragged Connant into the lab. Wald pulled him to his feet and faced him towards the doorway as Ames and de Roos came through. The blood-covered glass was right next to Connant's young flesh.

MacFerran, Garrett, and Straatman came to the door and saw the madness unfold. Ames slowly crept forward as de Roos kept a steady aim on Wald.

"Wald… what are you doing? He's just a kid. Come on, you know you don't want to do this," Ames said in a soothing voice.

"No… no, this is _my_ work! It's _mine_, I tell you!" Wald's voice was shaking. Ames nodded and had a reassuring smile on his face.

"You're right. You thought of all of this. It was all yours," Ames concurred. "Connant and I didn't think of any of it."

Wald looked a bit confused, but then quickly agreed. "Yeah… uh, yeah. Yeah, it was all my idea!"

"Your idea, Wald."

"All my idea! _My_ theories! Everything! It was all mine!" Wald kept his voice nice and loud. Ames crept ever closer, offering his hand.

"It's all your, Wald. But just let Connant go. I've known you for a long time, and I know that this isn't you. You don't want to do this, Wald," Ames concluded. Wald shook his head and re-gripped Connant and the glass. He looked down and nearly convulsed. "Wald, come on. You don't want to do this."

Wald's head shot up. He was smiling, as if he had been lying the whole time. He was still willing to kill Connant no matter what. Ames' face drained its pleasantness and turned to dread. Wald bit his bottom lip and quickly lifted the glass outward and then went in for the kill.

But he stopped short. Ames was frightened, but Wald's face had gone completely blank. Connant's too. Wald let go of him, and Connant scooted away, still staring behind Ames. The old scientist turned around and saw and awesome blue specter towering over him. The ghost of Durhkhan. Ames backed away and to the side as he stared in awe. The soldiers had lowered their weapons in sight of the spirit, but snapped back into consciousness and signaled for Ames and Connant to join them.

Wald stood in the center of the room, the broken beaker in his hand. It slipped out and glass scattered across the floor. The ghost tilted its head and then took a step towards Wald. The old man's hands shook, and he cautiously paced backwards.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" asked Ames. "Can't you help him?

"The hell do you want us to do?" asked Straatman. "It's a God-damned ghost!"

Ames wasn't satisfied. Wald had been his friend all his life, and whether he had changed for the worse or not, he wasn't about to let him die. He could not allow his best friend scare himself to death from harmless likeness.

"Wald, come on, we have to leave!" he said as he approached him. But Wald wouldn't listen. He backed himself to the window, his upper leg hitting the seal. "Wald…"

Ames stepped forward, in front of the apparition. For a second, Wald became calm, and he suddenly realized what he had done. He had killed Newell, and he was going to kill Connant, an innocent kid. Wald nearly broke into tears. He outstretched his arms and smiled at his old friend.

"Ames… I'm so sorry. I'm-"

But the specter gave no chance. It lunged through Ames and charged at Wald. Wald screamed and pushed himself away, accidentally forcing himself out the window. The old man fell and fell and fell until he hit the frozen mound of snow with a huge _crack!_

Wald lay at the base of the building with his hands now still. The ghost disappeared, and Ames went to the window. He shrunk down and began to sob. All the years they had been friends, and Ames couldn't save him when he needed it the most.

Connant pulled Ames off the ground and comforted him while the others looked out the window. de Roos went to Newell's body and desperately checked for a pulse, but he knew he was dead. At the window, Garrett watched as the figure - who had returned - once again drifted away into the snow.

----

Renaud sprinted through the hallways, constantly looking over his shoulder. Every now and then when he was turning a corner, he saw Phaira-kur gliding towards him. The look in the beast's eye was deadly, and his rage deadlier.

With a part of the camp burning, it wouldn't take long before everyone would realize what was happening, and get out. Renaud turned his head once more, but Phaira-kur was absent from his menacing state. When he turned back around, Renaud hit into his entire crew. Connant, Ames, and the others had met Grady in the hallway.

"What the hell is going on?" asked MacFerran.

"No time for that," said Renaud, shaking his hands. "Did you get Durhkhan outside?" MacFerran nodded. "Good. Phaira-kur isn't far off. He's coming after me. Now we have to get him outside."

"The Protoss won't be here for a long while, Renaud," said MacFerran. Renaud rubbed his face as he tried to think of a plan.

"He's after you, right?" asked Van Camp. Renaud nodded. "Well, if you're willing to be bait, you could stay in the complex for however long you have to." Renaud thought about that. If it ensured the lives of everyone there, he would do it.

"I'll do it. Everyone get outside. If the Protoss show up… tell them he's inside." Renaud took Straatman's gun, twisted and started to head off. Van Camp stopped him.

"I'm coming with you," he said. Renaud looked at him, perplexed.

"Me, too," said Snider.

"And me," announced Grady. Everyone stared at him. "It's not because I like you, Renaud. I want to find that asshole Blake. He left me for dead."

"All right," Renaud said, smiling. "Everyone go. You three follow me."

"Where are we going?" asked Snider.

"The roof."

"What the hell for?" Grady retorted, almost snarling.

Renaud turned to him and released a cool smile. "We'll be able to see when the Protoss fleet comes riding in."

He moved cautiously to the stairwell, and Van Camp, Snider, and Grady followed him. Renaud knocked the door open and moved in. He let his rifle lead him through the stairwell. The lights at the top on the ceiling had come loose from the explosion in the kitchen and were hanging by the wires. A few emergency lights were on, but even those flickered from the damage the building had sustained.

The blast and the fire that ensued had taken a small portion of the building down, and the fire was starting to creep throughout the entire complex. The stairwell wasn't an exception; it wasn't far from the dining hall in the first place.

Renaud started to head up the stairs, ignoring the various torn bodies of scientists that had unluckily come in contact with Phaira-kur. Blood was splattered on the concrete walls, and one scientist even took the time to write "monster" with his blood before he died. Van Camp stopped and stared at the message. He wondered why he was saving this beast. Snider tapped his shoulder and flicked his head away, motioning that it was time to move on.

The group came to the third level. Renaud had stopped, and so had Grady. When Van Camp and Snider caught up with them, they saw that the stairs leading to the roof were gone. Renaud looked down towards his feet and noticed that the metal stairs had been cut away. He shook his head; those blades were capable of destroying just about anything.

"We'll have to go through the storage room," Renaud said. "I don't see any other way around it. And shit, it's right near the dining hall. It's probably on fire." There was a door to their left that was the storage room, and that had a ladder that led up to the roof. But there could be stored explosives that no one put in the armory in there, and with that fire beneath them… He tried to look at the distance between where he was standing and where the stairs used to lead. Renaud then went to the side and grabbed the railing that was attached to the wall. "Hey, Snider… you got strong arms, right?"

Snider rolled his eyes and gripped the railing. He nodded and put the strap of his rifle over his neck. He took the railing again and dropped down, seeing if he could hold himself up. He scaled along the wall, moving up the railing like the side of the monkey bars. He reached the other side and switched one hand to the top of the stairwell, then the other. He pulled himself up and wiped his hands.

"Piece of cake," Snider said. He turned around and blew on his hands and cursed under his breath. Van Camp was next. He, too, successfully made his way to the top level by moving up the railing.

Grady was getting ready to go, but the door from the hallway on the floor beneath them swung open, and a figure ran up the stairs. Before Renaud could even react, the figure held out a handgun and fired three rounds. Renaud flew back against the wall and ducked his head as the figure ran into the storage room.

"Was that Blake?" asked Grady. Renaud got up and moved to the door, pressing himself against the wall to the side and peering in, his handgun held upright. He looked up at Van Camp and Snider.

"Go outside and wait for us. We're going through the storage room. Van Camp, give your gun to Grady." Van Camp tossed the rifle down to Grady, and then exited to the roof. Grady cocked the gun and got ready. He signaled to Renaud that he was all good to go, and Renaud turned and kicked the door open. The room was unrealistically dark. There were emergency lights up above, but they were so dim that someone could hide in front of you without you having any idea.

Renaud and Grady moved cautiously. A shot rang out in the dark, and Renaud hit the floor. Grady reeled back and grasped his arm. Renaud caught a glimpse of the figure ducking behind a group of boxes. Renaud let three shots rip through the boxes, and again the figure came out.

It was Blake, and he outstretched his arm and fired again. Renaud rolled to the right and shot once, hitting Blake's thumb, causing his arm to fly back in pain. He released his handgun into a pile of boxes and it disappeared. Before Renaud could shoot again, Blake vanished in the maze of crates.

Slowly Renaud stood, wiping the sweat from his brow. He quickly glanced at Grady. He appeared to be okay. Grady got up, cursing and mumbling. He readied his rifle and moved towards the ladder.

"Where the hell is this bastard?" Grady inferred. "Hey Blake! I got something for ya'!" Grady reached into his pocket with his good arm and pulled out a pair of dog tags. "These belonged to Ambrose, you son of a bitch!" Grady waved them around in the air before putting them back in his pocket. "Let's do this, Renaud."

They both moved towards Blake's last position. He wasn't there. Renaud moved to the left and Grady to the right. As they searched for their ex-leader, they were separated by a column of boxes. Renaud quickly turned around, noticing that Grady had gotten lost in the dark. He whipped back to his front and barely had time to move before Blake launched a pole at him. The pole pierced Renaud's right arm, and he dropped his gun into a crate. Blake then followed through with a punch to the face. Renaud flew up against the wall and fell onto a group of boxes.

Renaud jumped up and onto Blake and wrestled him to the ground. He tried to get a purchase on Blake's neck, but Blake hurled his head backwards and smashed Renaud in the face. Renaud almost immediately let go, and Blake got up and wound his leg for a kick.

Renaud rolled to the left and Blake kicked a mile-high stack of boxes. He upset the base and it teetered towards him. Finally, the column started to collapse, and both Renaud and Blake dove out of the way. Before either could do anything, the boxes exploded into an amazing fire.

The fire from below had burned through the floor and was now spreading into the storage room. Grady was all the way at the end, looking back as he saw Blake and Renaud started to fight again.

But another stack of crates burst into flame, and this time it wasn't caused by the already raging fire. It was a blast from Phaira-kur. Blake quickly stopped quarrelling with Renaud and searched for the gun. Renaud tackled him and grabbed his neck, choking Blake to death.

"I never should have listened to you!" Renaud shouted. "I never wanted to go find that Protoss! And when I did, I knew you sons of bitches would study him like he was a dog!"

Blake forced his knee upward, hitting Renaud in the groin. Renaud fell over, wincing in pain.

"You never knew what was good for you, Renaud! You'll never be a leader! You're a fucking peasant! _My _peasant!" Blake pressed his boot on Renaud's neck and slowly squeezed the life out of him. A bullet rang out and struck Blake in the shin. Blake screamed in agony and fell over, clutching his leg. Renaud got up and watched as Grady ran towards him.

"Come on! We have to get out of here! This whole place is gonna go!" Grady grabbed Renaud's arm and led him towards the ladder, but Phaira-kur cut them off. He lifted them both by the neck and threw them towards the flames. But the drugs had been slowly creeping on him, and his throw was not forceful enough to send them into the pit.

It took Phaira-kur much energy to cause that blast and throw the two humans. He was getting tired, too tired. He stumbled and nearly fell to his knees. Blake chuckled as he limped towards the ladder and climbed up. Once he reached the top, he looked back at Renaud and Grady, made a crying face, laughed hysterically.

In his hand was the handgun. Somehow he had found it in the box. He saluted the two soldiers, and then aimed at Phaira-kur's head from atop the ladder. Renaud jumped up and ran at Phaira-kur. Just as Blake pulled the trigger, Renaud seized Phaira-kur and pulled him out of the way. Blake fired again, but nothing came out; his clip was empty. Frustrated, he opened the latch on the roof, thrust the door open, and crawled out.

Phaira-kur was nearly passed out. He was still moving, but he couldn't see straight or coordinate properly. Renaud pushed Grady up the ladder and then followed.

"Are we just leaving him!" Grady yelled. "After all this? We're just leaving the son of a bitch!" Renaud shook his head.

"We have to hope the Protoss have arrived! We have to tell them that he's in here! He's too heavy for us two to carry him up the ladder!"

Grady crawled out the exit first, then turned around to help Renaud. They both had made it to the roof just in time. The fire reached a barrel of explosives, and it ripped half the roof off, and nearly caused them to fall. Renaud looked around; Van Camp and Snider were gone.

It was possible that they were engulfed in the flames that spiraled from the storage room. Not only that, Blake was gone, too.

But not for long. Blake came from nowhere to hit Renaud in the face and elbow Grady in the stomach. Blake tackled Renaud, but he was kicked off and rolled along the unstable rooftop. Renaud followed him. He kicked Blake in the face and went in for a punch, but Blake tripped him and caused Renaud to fall backwards, hitting his head against a plank of wood.

A new flame burst through another section of the roof. Blake and Renaud were nearly surrounded by flames. Grady recovered and took aim with his rifle, but felt something around his foot. He looked down as the sapphire blade cut through his foot. Grady screamed and fell down on his back.

Renaud looked to him, and Blake took the opportunity to put his arm around Renaud's neck. Grady screamed and screamed, and the blades returned, one on each side of him. Renaud reached out, trying to help his companion who was too far away.

"Christ, Blake! Let me help him! This is between you and me!" pleaded Renaud. "Let Grady go!" But Blake only tightened his grip as Renaud struggled for air, painfully watching as the blades met at the center and then fell onto Grady's stomach, splitting him in two. Grady gurgled as the small section of the roof he lay on collapsed and fell into the trench of flames.

Renaud finally found the strength and beat his way free of Blake's grip. He dashed to where Grady had been, but there was nothing left. Suddenly, Phaira-kur leapt out of the flames and onto the roof. Blake nearly fell over when the Protoss warrior landed. Phaira-kur stalked towards Renaud, who crept around him and went to Blake.

Blake was no longer interested in fighting, only living. He tried to find a safe patch of the roof and a place to get down, but there was nothing left. The entire complex was burning to the ground. Renaud saw a long plank of wood that stretched to the edge of the building. Most likely he would have to jump if he reached the edge, but it was better than being eaten alive by the fire.

Renaud stepped carefully onto the plank of wood and started to make his way across. Blake saw this and got right behind him, trying to catch up so that he could push Renaud in. But right behind Blake was Phaira-kur, who had both blades extended, regardless of how tired he was, and was chasing both of them.

Blake stepped a bit quicker and kicked Renaud from behind. Renaud tripped and fell square on the plank, keeping himself absolutely still. Blake stepped on Renaud to pass over him, laughing while he did it. When Blake got over him, he bent over and looked his lieutenant in the face.

"I'm the one who runs this facility," Blake said. "I'm not taking orders from a shit head like you, Renaud!"

Renaud only smiled. Blake looked at him in disgust. "What?" Blake asked. "What the fuck are you smiling about?"

"This." Renaud peeled away a piece of the charred wood from the underside of the plank and stabbed Blake in the eye. Quickly Renaud got up as Blake teetered from one side to the other nearly falling in as he screamed from the pain. Renaud turned around and saw Phaira-kur's blade come slashing at him. He ducked as the razor hit Blake in the gut, spilling his intestines into the fire. Blake tried to stop it and grabbed his intestines with his hands, swaggering, somehow managing to stand.

The fire crept up the slick body organ and burned Blake's hands. The flame shot up the rest of his intestine and crawled into his stomach. Phaira-kur then levitated in the air, closing his eyes and focusing what was left of his brilliant psionic forces. Renaud slipped back the way he had come and stood on the last patch of roof that hadn't fallen through. He watched in horror as Phaira-kur took control of a sharp pole and threw it through Blake's chest. Blake fell backwards, and the pole went through the wood, pinning him to the plank.

Phaira-kur simply took his blue sword and cut the plank in half. Blake's side swung towards the wall it was connected to and sat as the flames ate it away. His head seemed to spin as the fire melted his eyes and burned the flesh away from his face. Phaira-kur turned and landed near Renaud. He raised his blade, ready to strike, and Renaud didn't move. There was no escape. No way for him to run or hide. He was ready to accept his fate.

But Phaira-kur stopped and began to levitate again. Renaud watched as he was overwhelmed by a white light, and soon he, too, was levitating. Renaud's eyes started to close as he saw that he was heading towards more Protoss who were beckoning for him to come with them.

----

When Renaud awoke, he was on the snow. He was lying down, a jacket folded underneath his head. Connant was above him, looking at him. The young scientist smiled.

"Hey, gorgeous," Connant said. He laughed and stepped away as Van Camp and Garrett helped him stand up. Renaud brushed himself off and looked around, trying to analyze his current situation. In the end, he just threw up his hands.

"I give up. Am I dead or not?" he asked. Van Camp smiled as he chewed a piece of gum. Snider rolled his eyes and laughed. "Seriously."

"No, Renaud. You're alive. You're still recovering from when they picked you up," Ames explained. Renaud turned around and looked at the old scientist.

"What?"

"Look," Ames said, pointing out in the distance. Renaud slowly turned. He saw that the complex was completely on fire, and that there was no way it could be saved. He stepped forward when he saw the strange white lights that were blinking in the sky. They blinked every few seconds and circled the complex.

"What the hell…"

"Carriers, Renaud," Connant said. "It's the Protoss fleet that MacFerran told us about! They're here! And they got Phaira-kur back!"

Renaud looked down before facing his team again. "And where are they now?" he asked. Ames and Connant looked at each other, smiling.

"Actually," Ames said. "Their leader would like to talk to you." The two scientists stepped to the side as a tall Protoss wearing a cloak stepped forward, followed by several others. He removed his hood and looked at Renaud. The beaten soldier could only think of one thing;

He needed a cigarette.

Renaud fished through his pockets and pulled out the pack and put one in his mouth. He found what was left of his matches and lit the cigarette despite the howling wind.

"Who the hell are you?" Renaud asked as he took the first puff. The tall Protoss moved his head and blinked. Renaud was unmoved by this.

_Entaro Adun, Renaud, _the being said. His cloak was a magnificent blue color, as if it had been bathed in a pool of Shakuras. That is when Renaud realized that this Protoss was not a simple zealot, or even a templar… this legend was a dark templar. The high being continued. _I am Zeratul, commander of this Protoss fleet._

Renaud actually cracked a smile. Zeratul bowed his head and looked at Renaud, who was near laughing.

"You've come to help us get out of here?" Renaud asked. Zeratul nodded.

_That is correct. It is the least my brethren and I can do for heroes such as you. _Renaud slowly began to nod and looked around at the men who had come with him all this way. Van Camp, one of his best friends since he had arrived at Scientific Outpost #68; Snider and de Roos, two of the men who had gone with him to retrieve what they did not know as Durhkhan; Stratham, the soldier who had alerted Renaud to Durhkhan's escape; MacFerran, the radio operator who got excited awfully quick; Garrett, the near-silent radar operator; Straatman, a loyal guard; and Connant and Ames, a goofy young scientist and an older, wiser one.

Zeratul and the dark templar that stood behind him stepped to the side, and Zeratul held his hand towards a great carrier that had landed on Braxis' surface.

_Please come with us, _he beckoned, _we will bring you to Boralis, or any destination to which you desire._

Renaud patted Van Camp on the back and laughed, and the last group of humans who survived boarded the great flagship, and soon the entire Protoss fleet lifted off into low orbit.

A dark templar named Urs'khai seated the band of heroes, and they were joined by Zeratul and another Protoss, although he looked more like a regular templar.

_Entaro Adun, Renaud, _the being said. _I am commander of the entire Protoss fleet on Aiur. I am here to thank you for the return of our lost brother, Phaira-kur. _Renaud sat as he handed a cigarette to Snider, as well as pulling out a new one for himself.

"What's the deal with him?" asked Renaud. "I mean, I know he's disabled and everything, but why is it such a big ordeal to get this guy back? I understand you're firm believers in 'never leave a man behind,' but come on."

Tassadar and Zeratul chuckled at this. Zeratul stood and went to the end of the ship, looking out as they flew away from the raging inferno that was Scientific Outpost #68. He turned back and looked at Renaud, his bony hands behind his back.

_Phaira-kur is unlike any Protoss we have ever seen. His abilities with psionic forces are unbelievable. And it is thought by many Protoss and men such as yourselves that there are three of these beings. Three that have an ultimate power with psionic forces. One is a Protoss, one a human, and one a Zerg._

Ames and Connant leaned forward as Renaud puffed away. The other soldiers seemed interested, even though they had a small idea of what was being said.

_We already have both the human and the Zerg on Aiur, and they are teaching us the ways of psionic abilities._

"Even the Zerg?" asked Snider as he coughed from the smoke. Tassadar nodded.

_Even the Zerg, _he completed.

"So," started Renaud, "what's going to happen now? You have all three…"

_It is hard to say, _Zeratul began. _Your scientists Connant and Ames have told us of their discoveries, that all things come towards Aiur. And if we add Phaira-kur to our planet, it is difficult to fathom the outcome. _He paused and sat back down next to Tassadar. _They have control of certain things in the universe. The alignment of planets, their rotations. It is amazing what they can do. They are the core of the universe._

_We believe that they will understand if we separate them by sending them to three ends of the universe. But we will do nothing until we discover more._

"And that's where Connant and I come in!" blurted Ames. Zeratul chuckled.

MacFerran, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly spoke up.

"What about that Terran fleet?" he asked. "The Former Colonial Militia?" Zeratul nodded.

_Yes. We will be meeting with their leader, Raynor, later._

Straatman rubbed his shoulder and looked at each member of the group.

"I suppose we'll all be going to Boralis?" he asked Zeratul. But Zeratul shook his head, telling Straatman that they would take him wherever he pleased. "Honestly?" he said. "I'd like to go back to Aiur with you Protoss guys."

"Yeah, me too," said MacFerran. And so did all of the group. The only one not to respond was Renaud, who was sitting quietly.

Renaud sat and thought of what the days ahead of him held. He was going to quit his job and resign from whatever army he was loyal to. He decided that he wanted to go back home to where he was born. Renaud had several fond memories of his home planet, as well as his home town.

He remembered that when he was a child, there was a grassy hill on the edge of town that he used to go to every day while walking home from school. It was a beautiful hill, and when the spring came, flowers would bloom in patches all along the plain on the other side. One day never escaped Renaud's head. He was walking home from school, and he hadn't visited the hill in a week or so. It was the beginning of spring, and the wild flowers should have been blossoming.

Renaud climbed the hill and looked at the plain on the other side. All the flowers had blossomed into beautiful colors. Blue, red, purple, yellow, white… it was breathtaking. It seemed like the patch went on forever and ever…

"Hey, Renaud," Van Camp said. Renaud's eyes opened. "Are you coming to Aiur with us? Supposed to be nice there."

Renaud smiled. "Of course. It'll be real nice there." He rested his head on his seat and closed his eyes. _Yes,_ he thought, _that will be wonderful when we're back home. When we're at the top of the hill…_

_When the wild flowers are scattered over the plain._


End file.
